when my meal came, i scorned the obligatory linens and pretentious questions. was my filet "mignon" enough? did it matter? why use a napkin in my lap here when i wouldn't do the same elsewhere?
the answer came when a drop of vinaigrette permeated the soft, white plush of the pillow placed beneath my tray. convinced, i plopped the soft, white napkin in its stead and continued my dinner.
one cloth cousin sullied by my sloppiness and the other safely spared -- how pervasive discrimination is.
"what will you have to drink?"
wake up, world.