Potus, Introductions Part V

The head waiter appeared from a hidden door.  "Soup is being served," he announced.

As the soup was being laid before the officials, Potus asked the Chief of Staff, “Do you usually eat alone then, or mostly with someone else?”

CoS, still not following properly answered, “I sometimes eat alone.  But I find that the meal is not as fulfilling and enjoyable.  One always prefers to eat with others.”

Madame Secretary of State looked fondly at CoS and covered his hand with her own.  CoS looked uncomfortable and tried to pull his hand away but could not.  Secretary of State held her placid features in a frozen smile that eventually turned into a grimace of effort.  They arm wrestled silently until CoS was finally able to twist his arm and get out of the death grip.  Secretary of State wiped the corner of her mouth primly with her napkin.

Potus made a “not now” waving motion to the Secretary of State.  He pursued the topic between noisy slurps of soup.  “How many would you say is the proper amount of people to have present for your meal?  I mean, in terms of overall enjoyment by all parties?”

CoS slurped his soup, then adjusted his glasses.  “I would say that three to five is about optimal for a nice meal.  As long as there aren’t too many people of a certain attitude who can ruin the whole mood of the event.”

Potus made a face.  “Oh, you’re one of those people.”

“Which kind of people?”

“The kind that judges people and puts them in categories.”  Potus slurped his soup for added emphasis.

“I didn’t do that,” CoS said.  He slurped just as noisily as Potus had.

“Yes you did,” Potus grumped.

“No I didn’t.  You just did by categorising me.”

“Nuh uh,” said Potus, slurping.

“Yeah huh.”

“No uh way.”

“Yes uh way,” cried CoS.

The First Lady intervened.  “Boys, let’s stop arguing.  Let’s agree that a meal is more pleasant with others and eating alone is unrewarding, but not necessarily worse than any other option.”

Potus made an exasperated sound.  “It’s just that I object to the people who put restraints on the free trade of ideas.  They limit options by saying, ‘Oh, someone is messing up my environment, man.  My _jaw de fever_ or whatever the fuck is totally ruined, man.’”

Potus was cut short when the First Lady twacked him on the side of the neck with the back of her soup spoon.  He grabbed his neck and made a surprised noise.

“Ow.  Why did you do that?” he whined.

“Watch your mouth,” fumed the First Lady.  “You’re the great communicator of the free world and you’re overstepping your bounds with your intolerant rant belittling the common person.”

Potus winced, grabbing the side of his neck.  He put a pinkie in his ear and wiggled it.

“You got cream of celery in my ear,” he complained.