A steak fanatic, my father always picks out cuts that include a bone, because he loves to nibble on it.
One night Father and I were finishing our dinners at a steakhouse, and I could tell he wanted to start gnawing on the bone. But he couldn't bear to do so in public.
"Excuse me," he said, calling the waitress over, "would you please wrap this bone up for my dog?" Father has never owned a dog in his life, but the while lie seemed a tactful solution to his dilemma.
A few minutes later, the waitress returned to our table. "Here's your bone, sir," she said, handing over a large package. "And while I was in the kitchen, I grabbed a few more out of the scrap bucket."
