She exclaims, “Yes! And I’ll have the photosynthesis shake with a side of good topsoil.”
The waiter writes on a pantomimed pad and then turns to you. You consider your menu before saying, “Well, gee, how about a nice salad?”
Everyone onstage looks at one another in shock. They follow the body language of the waiter, simultaneously letting out an audible gasp. All of them eye you, even the “furniture.” The waiter is stepping back, clutching his heart.
“You are not . . . you are not a—”
“Vegetable cannibal!” your date, the Boston lettuce, shouts!
Without any consultation, your “chair” runs over to a piano in the corner, your date’s “chair” grabs a microphone, and the two people forming the ...