đ˛ That evening the restaurant was full of guests: laughter, toasts, the clinking of glasses. Everything looked festive and solemn⌠until the doors swung open and I walked into the hall in a terry bathrobe and house slippers with pink pom-poms.
The waiter, seeing me, was at first bewildered: was it a prank, or had some crazy woman decided to sneak into the banquet? But I calmly said:
â A table under the name John Anderson, please. Weâre celebrating our anniversary â fifteen years.
They led me through the whole hall, and I could feel every gaze piercing my back. The slippers slapped against the parquet, the robe swayed slightly, and the pink pom-poms bounced with every step.
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