Strike Two.

I showed up to the restaurant at precisely the agreed upon time.

I looked around and saw neither my sister nor my brother in law. I asked the hostess if any one for the party of Sir Justin had been seated. She said indeed not. I allowed the hostess to seat me.

The waitress came over-- and while this isn't relevant to the story she was the most beautiful women I have ever seen--and my psychic powers kicked in. I knew that I would spend the rest of my life with her.



She hadn't even finished talking about some soup of the day or whatever when I already had my plan. When the check came, I would immediately begin calculating her tip. Her gaze would no doubt be arrested by my time piece and I would mention that actually it had a phone book, too. She would blush and then I would enter in her number. Our kids would get so tired of that story.

But then my sister called and asked where I was, and I said at the restaurant, and she said she was too, and she stood up, and I saw her, and I had to relocate to the other side of the restaurant, where there was a new waitress (pictured). And my psychic powers told me that maybe I should stop with the predictions.