My shoelaces linger on the floor too. I bent down to re-tie them and the waiter, bill in hand, thought I has skipped out and stiffed him. He called the Gendarmes and they arrested me. Fortunately they booked my into a holding cell whose other occupant was a beautiful woman in a silk royal blue dress. We lingered there together. But. There wasn't much privacy, I must say. Later in the soiree, I managed to explain in my miserably passable French, what had happened and they good Parisian police officers released me, but when I asked who the woman in the blue dress was, they raised their Gallic eyebrows and looked at me askance and with arms akimbo to boot. "That was no woman!" they said at once. Then I realized: That was no woman, that was my wife! What a night.

I really like this one