I wasn't around for the show--I was in the ladies room--but by the time we were in the car, I was learning that "if they did find your cell phone, the mess was such that they would probably throw it away," and "now, Mom, just let me tell you my side of the story," accompanied by the twelve-year-old's hysterical giggles. It was worth the giggles, but I guess we'll never dare set foot in that restaurant again. Apparently, during those few moments when I was answering a call of nature, the twelve-year-old squeezed on the plastic ketchup bottle, "not because I wanted any on my Schnitzel, mom, but I just thought it was like only half full and I was bored."
Hee, hee, hee. Hee, hee, hee. He has to stop talking because he's laughing so hard he can't breathe.
"And then what happened?"
"Well, then I really just squeezed as hard as I could! I mean, I REALLY thought it was empty!"
"And then the fireworks happened?" asks my husband.
"Did you see it?" I asked, ready to inquire why he hadn't stopped our little force of nature.
"No, but I saw the results. Quite impressive. The white tablecloth. The wineglasses." An entry might have been made in the Guinness Book of World Records on ketchup-squirting. But we are all safe and sound, and it's almost Christmas, and there are good detergents out there among the Bavarian housewives, "and REALLY, Mom, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!"