Come Saturday morning

(For you non-Baby Boomer readers, that's a song title)

Saturday mornings are usually an excuse to loaf, read the paper, do errands, feel guilty for not using every second to work on my novel, enjoy the cool air.

Last weekend I went to eat brunch at a restaurant near Church and Market, and three-quarters of the way through my meal I realized that the two people at the table right next to me were: 1) acquaintances from church; 2) having a very private conversation. Had I sat down next to them without noticing them? Had they even greeted me at some point and I had not heard them? (It's been known to happen.) Was I intruding on their private conversation, or could they possibly have not noticed me?

And now what to do -- should I turn around and act as if I had just noticed I was sitting next to them (which was true) or just pretend I hadn't noticed them (which had been true and was now false)? Perhaps I should say something when I got up?

I took the cowardly way out, pretending I had never noticed them, and when I got up, I cast a glance over to their table in case they wanted to acknowledge me, but they didn't. So I left without a word.

Today I went back to the same restaurant. I looked around as I sat down to make sure I wasn't repeating my mistake, and I proceeded to have breakfast in peace. But when I stood up someone else -- still another acquaintance from church (which is a block away) -- hailed me. And it took them two tries just for me to realize someone was speaking to me. This is someone who was 3 feet away from me.

It's a wonder I haven't been run over by a bus by this time. I really ought to look around me more.