David’s date
One trite trope about restaurants is that canny waiters usher good-looking guests to the window seats — the hope being that hotties attract more custom — while shooing the uglies to tables beside the downstairs loos, presumably so that they can’t put anyone off eating. And so, ignoring the fact that it’s almost certainly nonsense, usually I like it when I’m shown to a table at the front. I tend to spend quite a lot of those meals brushing my hair back and wondering if I can suck in my nose.
