[Disclaimer – names have been changed to protect the, er, guilty, but the rest is pretty much as we heard it.]

“…well what do you mean?  Are you asking what was going on before my entire life began to fall apart?”

The first utterance to pique our interest.

And a little later we heard, “…beer, they serve beer – that’s all that matters to me.”

Hmmmm, sounds familiar – man/boy, college, beer.

“I mean, they had a patio and they had PBR on tap – they were going right for a man’s heart!”

More snippets filtered over the top of the booth and into range.

“…yeah, we’ve got another meeting with the lawyers next week.  I’m tryin’ to take the high road, I mean I really am, but she’s being really tough – wants everything.”

We exchange knowing glances and crack the slightest smile.  OK, well, this could be interesting…

“I’ve given her everything she’s asked for!  When we were doing the financial evaluation, I mean she’s got a master’s and a couple of bachelor’s, so she’s making as much as I am!  Sure, I have a master’s too, but we’re basically making the same money, so I had to point that out!  It means I don’t have to pay alimony, or child support or anything!”

Wow, who knew?!

“There was a new microwave sitting there on the counter – still in the box – she wanted that too!  I’m willing to bet we’ve spent $600 in motions on a $100 microwave.”  Pause.  “I know, weird, huh?”

Now we’re starting to stifle giggles, and having a hard time doing so.

“It’s ridiculous, I mean I’ve given her everything she wants.  …seems all I do is write checks.  Sometimes one of our boys is at the house, running around with his phone and she’ll see something in one of his pictures and say ‘Hey, what’s that?’, so I’ve got to be careful, really, really careful.”

All attempts to resist bursting out laughing have failed.  Completely.  Miserably.  We clutch napkins to our faces and hope nobody stands up to go to the bathroom.  God help us if our server passes by right now.

“I mean, every time I turn around I’m writing another $10,000 check!”  Pause.

“Yeah, there’s this basket – I mean it’s a really nice – a really big – basket.  She wants that too, but she’s not gettin’ it.  Ever.  She keeps asking – I mean her lawyers keep asking – for me to hand it over.”

“What basket?  Do you mean this basket?  …and I’ll get something out of the garage.”

‘No, no, not that basket.  You know which one it is!  I’m taking about the basket!’

“Oh, right!  …and I’ll go get another basket from somewhere else in the house.”

“Did you mean this one, the red basket?”

‘No, I mean the brown basket – the basket that’s made out of vines!  Oh!  You!’

“Well, OK, I’ll keep looking for it…”  Pause.  “…she’ll never get it.”  Chortle.

That’s it – game over – we’re now both on the verge of convulsions, hoping – no, praying, really – nobody comes by our booth.

“I mean this is a big basket.  It’s like a $600 basket!  It was in this couple’s $3.2M house!  We bought it from them.  It’s a really nice basket too!”  Pause.  “I swear, I’ll bet we’ve spent $3,000 in motions – motions, motions, motions – on this thing!  …on a $600 basket.  Crazy!”

Tears are streaming down our faces, as we both sit there in absolute hysterics, trying to keep some semblance of decorum.  Epic fail on that count.

“Nah, I’ve got it over at someone’s house.  She’s never going to find it.  It’s huge!  I’m talking ‘baby Moses on the Nile’ here!”  Pause. “I’ll bet it would float.”  Pause.  “Honey, how about the health and well-being of your kids, huh?  Who’s going to pay for their schooling?  Nope, it’s all about the basket.”

“I’ve thought about puttin’ it out in the front yard and fillin’ it with plants.  Now that would drive her crazy!  Yeah, maybe I’ll put Hammy in it and take a picture.  ‘Hey, have you seen your child lately?’  Hah!”  Pause.  “…of course there are other things I could fill it with too, but hey, like I said, I’m takin’ the high road!”

At this point, someone walks up to the adjacent booth with a tow-headed nine year-old girl trailing right behind.  Thank goodness – a reprieve – we’re able to gather ourselves, dry the tears and generally straighten up, er, well sorta straighten up…

“Hi!  Mike!  How are you?  Yes!  You remember Stacie, don’t you?  She’s in Hamilton’s class at school!”

A little nervous chatter between the mother, Mike and the couple in the booth, (who are obviously Mike’s friends), ensues.

Poof!  Our server materializes.  We beg off desert.  Poof!  He’s gone.

It becomes painfully apparent [to us] this guy lives in the immediate neighborhood – probably no more than 4 or 5 blocks away – and knows practically everybody here.

In fact, at an earlier point in the conversation, (before the interruption), he alluded to being somewhat recognizable in the neighborhood – claimed everyone at his church is praying for him…

He said, “Yeah, it’s a little uncomfortable at times…  I mean, Hank [at church] said I’ve got a great face for radio – hah, yeah – but, I mean somebody said something about the divorce and now everyone at church is praying for me!  I mean, like 2,000 people!  What else do they know about?”

Fast forward.  The mother smiles, apologizes for the interruption and shepherds her daughter toward the exit.

Mike continues.  “See!  See what I mean?!  I’ve got to be careful. …real careful.”  Pause.  “I can’t even fix up my house right now.  I mean if I do anything, I know she’ll freak out.  When this thing – when this divorce thing – is over, I’m gonna fix it up.  I am.  You know, paint it…  I’ll do the carpets too!  It’ll be nice.  Yeah, I’ll have everyone over.”  Pause.

“Right, I’ll have everyone over.” Pause. “…to see the basket!”