Better Choice At the End

The wife ‘n I were taken out by me’ bosses on a Christmas ‘do’, to a restaurant I can’t afford, uptown in some swank avenue, where a waiter dressed up to kill, in a black formal suit with a tie, pulled out the chair for me bottom, and placed a napkin over me fly. A ‘jar’ o’ wine chilled on our table to drink to enlighten’ the mood, and the waiter was fussin’ about, by offerin’ strange lookin’ food on a tray with one hand behind him, then he handed us all a menu, but everythin’ I tried to read, was in language I never knew. So one of the bosses tried helpin’, “What would you like to choose?” And it’s better to be safe than sorry, I said, “I’ll have the same as youse.” But then with a want for the asking, I turned to the waiter and said, “What in the heck have I ordered? And tell me in ‘stralian instead”. The waiter gave a little bow, as I unexpectedly clung, “Sir - your order is chosen wisely, a medium rare bullocks tongue”. It took a few moments to hit me, then it did with a terrible clout, “Bullocks tongue! Raw bullocks tongue! Don’t bother bringing that out.” “I’m gunna be changin’ me order. I ain’t eatin’ the same as that mob, ‘cause I just haven’t the stomach, for eatin’ somethin’ out of a cows gob. So mate yer’ write down this order, It’ll cook in a minute or two. … fancy eatin’ somethin’ from a cow’s gob - a boiled egg mate will have to do”.