Jon and I were having dinner at Motorino, which is the kind of fabulous brick oven pizza place that thinks nothing to putting ramps on the menu, and the kind of restaurant where it’s practically impossible not to overhear thoroughly engaging conversations between strangers at the tables around you.
Three guys, 30 something. One was getting married. One was the best man. The other guy was mainly eating pizza. Talk turned to the all important speech.
â€œWell obviously, Iâ€™m going to tell the Tangiers story,â€ said the best man.
â€œAbsolutely not,â€ vetoed the groom.
â€œBut itâ€™s the best one! Come on!â€
â€œNo way,â€ the groom was adamant. â€œHer family is totally strict. Literally no way.â€
â€œBut itâ€™s such a good one!â€ whined the best man.
â€œNot really,â€ said the groom to be. â€œYou pull down your pants, you tuck it in, everyone thinks youâ€™re a girl. Thatâ€™s it. End of story.â€