Helen, left: “Well, I think that was rather rude of you to say.”

Ramon, right: “It wasn’t rude, my pet. It was fact. You shouldn’t be doing such a thing in here. This appears to be a fine restaurant, one where we all pay exorbitant prices just to make sure that unexpected things don’t happen. And one of those things is the presumption that a fellow patron will not waltz in with a baby yeti on her shoulder.”

Helen: “I couldn’t just leave him at home! He’s not quite comfortable in my penthouse yet, what with there not being any dense forests or snow or photographers from ‘The Discovery Channel’. Besides, how will anyone in The Rich White People Conservation League know that I am working to save endangered species if I don’t wear those species as accessories?”

Ramon, momentarily stunned but then recovering: “But darling, I don’t think you have the full picture here. If you have enough money to afford a penthouse and a membership in a pretentious league and a yeti, you can afford a yeti handler. Why don’t you just hire someone to take care of… does the poor thing even have a name? Surely there must have been a name on the certificate you got when you purchased this latest version of a Cabbage Patch Doll.”

Helen: “Yes, there was a name, something with a lot of vowels, but I didn’t care for it. He is now known as Guillaume de la Roquefort.”

Ramon: “That name has a lot of vowels, too, and none of them are right for a yeti. Perhaps it’s time you consider that maybe this was an impulse purchase that shouldn’t have happened. Is there a return policy?”

Helen: “How can you say such a thing? Now you’re hurting Guillaume’s feelings! I’m covering his ears so you can’t torment him any more.”

Ramon: “Um, those are his eyes.”

Helen: “They are? Oh. Maybe these long things hanging down are his ears? Like a bunny?”

Ramon: “No, that would be his arms. Arms that appear to be clawing at the table so he can get away from you. Do you even know what a yeti is?”

Helen: “Of course I do. I read most of the brochure in the welcome kit. They like snow, and they like hiding, and they tend to become unbalanced if they don’t get the right nutrition.”

Ramon: “And was your picture in the brochure for that third part?”

Helen: “No, silly. But it was very clear what I should feed Guillaume. That’s why I asked that we dine here tonight.”

Waiter, prancing up at this particular moment, because the story flow would have been jacked if he had pranced at any other time: “I trust that Mademoiselle and Monsieur have reviewed tonight’s selections on the menu. What can we prepare for you?”

Ramon: “Anything with vodka.”

Helen: “I’ll have the Cobb Salad, hold the cobb and the salad.”

Waiter: “Splendid choices. And the yeti?”

Helen: “Well, I’m torn between the Lost Mountain-Climber Tartare and the Park Ranger Stir-Fry. What would you suggest?”

Waiter: “From my experience, the stir-fry results in less digestive turbulence, post-consumption.”

Helen: “Then stir-fry it is. And let’s add a side of Mythological Meatballs, with pepper sauce.”

Waiter: “Excellent. Anything else?”

Ramon: “Yes, let’s make my drink a double. I think I’m going to need it.”

Waiter: “I already did that, sir. As soon as I saw the yeti.”

Previously published in “Crusty Pie” and “Bonnywood Manor”. Slight changes made for this post.