Adam and I went to a restaurant called Rubirosa today. (Recommended.) I like black pepper on my pizza, so we asked the waiter for some. He came over wielding a huge peppermill. "Oh!" I said, too excited to tell Adam an amusing story to think through the consequences of bringing it up while the waiter was still at our table. "In certain circles, those big peppermills are known as Rubirosas."
"Really?" asked the waiter.
Thinking perhaps the restaurant owners had known what they were doing, I asked why the place was named Rubirosa.
"It's the owner's name."
Too late to turn back now. I explained that this anecdote would be a bit off-color, but, well, there was a famous playboy in the 1950s named Porfirio Rubirosa, and he was famous for (a) marrying rich women, and (b) being so well-endowed that people began referring to giant peppermills as "Rubirosas."
Our waiter, standing there with the peppermill in his hands, said, "But just the big ones, right?" I wasn't sure what his point was, but I took it as proof that he had understood what I was trying to impart.
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