Mama said old folks ought to stay at home.

I say amen to that. And, amen, again, the reason being …

Several of us went to a storytelling festival in Huntsville last weekend.

Between storytelling concerts, we decided to follow what had been a light breakfast with a light lunch at a place new to us, Chicken Salad Chick.

As best we could tell, the menu included chicken salad laced with everything except possum and collard greens. We all opted for a cup of potato soup and a scoop of Fancy Nancy, a cautious chicken salad choice with grapes, apples and pecans.

The restaurant was cute, definitely a chic place with its dollhouse atmosphere. However, several men were seated and that was all right. Not all men eat buffalo and black beans.

For a while we savored the lunch with sweet tea and lively conversation. Before we left, Net decided to take a trip to the powder room. She returned with a glowing report.

“The restrooms are apropos,” she said. “The first two are posted ‘Chic’ and ‘Chic.’ The last one is ‘Chic Magnet.’”

How cleaver.

“On the wall, there are four signs, cute signs,” she said. She didn’t say apropos again but it was understood. “One sign says, ‘Sugah, don’t ya think ya’d feel betta if ya had on a little lipstick?’”

We laughed at that. The other sign said something about mayonnaise and money but Net couldn’t remember exactly what, and she remembered nothing about the other two signs.

Mernie and I decided to go “chick” it out.

She took one chic door and I took the other.

When I pushed opened the door, there stood, bolt upright … a Chic Magnet.

If I had been a mouse, I would have squeaked. 
But instead, I bolted over and pushed passed Mernie as she was closing her Chic door.

“What are you doing? Why are you coming in here?” Mernie squawked.

“Because there’s a chic magnet in there!” I said putting the emphasis on “chic magnet.”

“What’s he doing in there?”

“Well, what do you think?”

I stood there, passing the time by reading the sign on the door: Employees must wash their hands before returning to work. That was a comforting thought, not cute, but comforting.

“Go on. Get out,” Mernie said.

I wasn’t going back out. The chic magnet might be out there and we both would be embarrassed.  But, then, it might look rather odd for two mother hens to come clucking out the same chic door.

I peeped out. The hallway was deserted. The chic magnet was nowhere to be seen. It was safe to go out.

I pushed Chic door number two open and this time I did squeak.

The startled chic magnet made a sound, much like a cluck and then he was gone.

My feathers were ruffled but I kind of felt bad for the gentleman, who evidently was probably around about the same time Thomas Crapper was getting his first patent on the flushing toilet. The old gent had no earthly idea what a chic magnet is.

Probably a lot of mature folks don’t know that.

To avoid future confusion – and embarrassment –for those of us who are no longer spring chickens and not staying home, Chicken Salad Chick might want to consider using the designations, Hen, Hen and Rooster for their indoor facilities. That’s not quite as cute as Chic, Chic and Chic Magnet but “sugah, it sho won’t confuse ya.”