Early on in my relationship with a very charming man who did not wind up being my husband, we visited the quaint town of Galveston, Texas.
In his desire to treat me to the best, he took me to a lovely French restaurant. The atmosphere was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The table cloths were long, and we’d had a long day, so I slipped my shoes off under the table assuming no one would notice.
My date was amused and somewhat dismayed watching the waiter bend to whisper something in my ear.
The waiter knelt to the floor beside me and then left.
My date was very interested in what had just happened. With an ear-to-ear grin, I told him, “The waiter asked if I wanted a pillow for my feet.” He looked under the table and … sure enough … a lovely little pillow with tassels and trim cradled my tired tootsies.
Needless to say, that waiter got a wonderful tip that night. My date didn’t do so badly either.