A Pinch of Salt

The Resident Fan Boy ordered a cappuccino for brunch at a fairly fancy restaurant which has recently opened down the block from us. I was having a very tart mango smoothie and he suggested that I also add a little sugar to it. So I did, a very little because the spoon that came with the bowl was so very tiny and the sugar was in minuscule crystallized blocks. The Resident Fan Boy took one sip and grimaced.
"It's salt," he announced. I pointed out the server to him.
"Where?"
"There," I said with just an edge of impatience. "He's just leaned down behind the counter."
Younger daughter, who is remarkably sensitive for someone on the spectrum, picked up my tone and protested.
"PLEASE don't be mad, Mom!"
"It's okay," I reassured her. "You don't have to shout."
"I'm not shouting!"
"Well, your voice is a little loud."
"I'M NOT SHOUTING, MOM!"
I watched an older group dressed in expensively casual clothes turn their heads. One woman got up slightly and leaned to get a good look at younger daughter.
The Resident Fan Boy returned from his conference with the server, and found me sitting in embarrassed silence and younger daughter looking somewhere between defiant and depressed.
"What's wrong?"
"It's fine."
"What happened?"
"Please. Just drop it."
Our server showed up minutes later with fresh drinks.
"You'd be surprised how often this happens." No, we wouldn't, I thought, as I surveyed the bowl of sugar which looked more like salt than the bowl of salt had.
That evening, younger daughter pulled on her boots as we prepared to go out to see the Boston Ballet at the National Arts Centre.
"Whew!" she said. "I'm glad I'm not angry anymore!"
Then she looked out the window.
"O-o-o-h! The moon is so beautiful!"
A full moon in Leo. That must be it.