His Name is John

Not too long ago, Hubby took the Fries out to Denny's for a meal.  I must have been working or sick (had a day that I slept mostly through last week because of the cold the Fries gave to me), because I wasn't there.

Once again, I'm working tonight, and Hubby has decided that it's just going to be easier to take the Fries out to dinner and keep them out of my hair.

Large Fry wants pizza, but we just had pizza last night.

He decides on Denny's.

"Wiiyull John be dewre?" Small Fry asks.

"Probably not," Hubby says.  "He's usually there on Monday mornings, not Monday nights."

"I want to see John."

About then, I push pause on Randy and the Rainbows crooning "Denise" in my ear, and give Hubby a questioning look.

"They found out that Denny's real name is John," he explained.

Ah.

"He's rather upset by it," Hubby went on.

"Really?"  I couldn't help but grin.

"It's been probably a year that they've called him Denny.  The last time we were there, one of them asked the waitress where Denny was.  I explained that they think the male manager's name is Denny, because Denny is a boy's name.  And she said, 'Oh, you mean John.' So then they saw him, and said 'Youwr name is John!'  He was not happy.  'No, it's not; it's Denny!' he said.  'Youwr name is John!'  'Who let the cat out of the bag?'"

"That's just too cute," I said, giggling.

I think we'll have to give him a nametag that says Denny or something the next time all of us go there.