You know, I suspect leaving a health fair where you just found out your cholesterol levels aren't as good as they should be...

...to go have a brunch of bacon, eggs and sausage at the local diner... Probably isn't the best thing to do.

But that's what we both wanted, so that's what the wife and I did.

The 50s-retro diner was unusually crowded, and we found ourselves sitting at the counter. Facing directly across the counter at Arnie, an elderly Hispanic with a quick smile, bad teeth, and a looong ponytail.

Watching him do dishes.

He made a great flourish of putting a liner in a trash can, and one of the busy waitresses commented on his artistry.

We didn't know the counter seats came with a floor show, I replied.

From the counter, we got to watch our meals prepared. "That bacon's going to have to be sent back," the wife whispered, as she saw the limp strips piled on our plates. As if reading her mind, or her lips, the cook snatched the bacon off our plates with his bare hands and carried them back like strands of rope to sizzle some more on the grill.

I could see fingerprints in my toast.

"At least here you can see what they do with your food," the wife said. "Any regular restaurant, and you'd never know."

The place was cleaner than the other times I'd been here, and it was easy to see why. Not one of the people working there, several marked with non-decorative tattoos, paused to rest for even a second. If they weren't cooking or serving or washing, they were cleaning, wiping or restocking.

We watched a young couple come in and sit side-by-side in a booth, the gal's face alight with delight as she soaked in the surroundings and gave their order to the waitress leaning across the rail.

An older, attractive woman came in and stood silently by the door.

You don't need to wait to be seated, I mutter to the wife under my breath.

"She's just waiting for Art," was the unexpected reply. Turns out my wife knew the woman's name, and her husband's. Even though they live 120 miles away. And sure enough, in came Art, and they took seats at the nearest booth.

Turns out my wife knew they just had a new grandchild born this past week.

Hence their visit.

Yeah, the whole state is a small town like that.

Later, as we sipped the last of our $1.89 coffees, we got yet another floor show. This from our waitress Reyna, as she restocked the lower shelves behind Arnie's sinks. She's young and attractive, and favors the straight, low-riding jeans of her generation.

And today her panties were black. And really lacy.