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I took the imperative “there should be napkins, too, real ones” seriously and raided the nearby Goodwill’s linen section, lucking into a dozen identical crisp white serviettes.

I use a serviette that has been left on the side to wipe down the plate and then my face, then make my way back along the narrow corridors and into the restaurant.

“I say this with so much love and affection, but I feel like we’re doing up a house together and he’s like, ‘Look at this serviette that I fashioned into the shape of two swans!

Or it may be their wish to imply that they’re still so young and hip that it is laughable for them to be, say, ironing the serviettes before a dinner party.

Would I even have trouble tossing these serviettes streaked with memories?