My wife came through the door in a bit of a rush as though being a little late was out of the ordinary for her. I had a table near the door so it only took a moment for her to scan the restaurant and locate me. I waved. She smiled. As she came toward me, she glanced at the adjacent table where twenty ladies were eating amid cacophonous conversation. With a squeeze of my hand she said, “This is a risky place for a man of a certain age to be sitting.” She nodded toward the table occupied by ladies regaled in red hats and purple blouses or scarves. Certainly I noticed them. Who wouldn’t notice bright red bonnets bobbing above purple blouses? Invisible to this flock of respectable ladies, I got neither a pinch of my butt nor a single come hither look. They, however, were not invisible to anyone dining at North for a typical Tuesday lunch. As my wife settled into her chair, I said, “Not risky for me. ...