XII. In the Restaurant

The cab was not the only challenge for them. Restaurant manager was in advance informed by Robin the party doubled in size, but when they came in, he thought, it rather had been tripled. So had been his task to find a suitable table for those giantesses. Due to the prices, the place was never full, so he called a steward and ordered him to pull two tables together. And he made sure, there were deep leather armchairs instead of the ordinary wooden ones: that was the only way the women might - still only might - be able to hide their longer than life legs under the tables.

'I accommodated Harlem Globetrotters here the other day,' he whispered into waiter's ear. 'You know, that basketball showmen from the US that don't have a single guy shorter than 6'4". And must say it was much easier to comfort those lads than these ladies. How tall they are, I am wondering!'

As he helped every guest to sit down by the table, the waiter, who was also puzzled, secretly compared his own height with theirs', and then returned to the manager's desk.

'It's impossible even to guestimate,' he said. 'You know, when they came in, I thought, the man was very short, but he's not much shorter than me. And my chin wasn't higher up than two young ladies' bums.'

'Yeah, I saw that. The top of you head was just at the level of theirs waists! Incredible! They're not very tall; they're extremely tall, even beyond that! I've never seen a man of this height, let alone a woman. And here they are - two of them at a time! And aren't they a beauties?'

'Yes sir, but may I draw your attention to the youngest of them? I'd love to be wrong, but she is looking very young. I mean too young if I may...'

'Is she?' the manager was short-sighted. 'We can be in trouble than. I gotta check, thank you.'

He approached the party, coughed politely and said, 'I beg your pardon, but with all my respect may I ask you young beautiful lady just how old are you? At this time only persons over 21 allowed in the premises, and you look so magnificently young'.

'What's the problem then?' It was Nick: Robin called him earlier that evening and invited over. He appeared unnoticed and took an initiative in his hands. He was a head taller than the manager, which gave him an advantage to talk to him in a patronising manner. 'This is my fiancee; she's a foreigner and doesn't speak any English. But I can assure you that she by all means is older than 21.' He made a gesture towards girl inviting her to get up, and when she did and bent over him, kissed her in cheek. He hadn't see her for a while and was keen to kiss her all over - her pretty young face, her beautiful swan neck, her so far underdeveloped boobs, her flat tummy that could be seen beneath bright yellow top, her long, unbelievably long and lovely legs, but he wasn't sure it would be accepted by her mother who didn't understand a word and just watched the scene smiling as Breta tried to catch up with the translation.

'Look at her!' he proudly raised his arm high in the air and put his hand on her upper arm. 'Do you still think she is a teenager?'

The old man didn't know what to think. On one hand, her face looked so childishly young. On the other, he felt a child himself in her immense presence. Never before had he felt so small being forced to look way, way up at a bosom, even at a stomach - no matter of an adult or a minor. 'I... I am sorry, miss, I would like to apologize for my doubts,' it seemed that being totally overwhelmed by height of the person in front of him, he didn't get it that she didn't understand English. 'This will not be repeated, but may I just ask you how tall are you?'

Nick knew the answer - at least, he thought he knew, - but pretended to be translating the question. He just said something meaningless on a birds' language, heard the girl's answer and turned to the manager. 'She's 239 centimetres, just short of eight feet. And she's still growing,' he added proudly.

In a matter of seconds, he realized that the last words contradicted his previous statement concerning her age, but the manager didn't notice it. Being French, he ignored 'eight feet' stuff, but 239 centimetres was something unimaginable.

'She's a giraffe,' he told to the waiter. 'She's two metres forty.'

'How do you know?'

'I just asked her.'

'Weren't you afraid to?'

'Why? She seems to be very friendly. But still a giraffe.'

'Yes, and one of her companion's even taller. Not much, of course, just couple of inches.'

'Taller? They must be the tallest sisters in the world. They look like sisters, and the older lady is definitely their mother.'

'Yes sir, and she looks really short next to them despite she's very tall herself. They must have an elephant as their father,' he giggled.

'And that gentleman that joined them - do you know who he is? A boyfriend of the younger sister! He looks ridiculous next to her.'

'Agree. But you know, sir, I would suppose that the other one is a husband or boyfriend of her sister, who's even taller, and the gentleman himself is even shorter than his companion.'

'Can you imagine them posing for a family picture?' manager laughed.

'I would give my tips for a week just to watch the couples kissing,' said waiter. 'I doubt the men could have a chance to kiss their women's' breasts.'

'Breasts! I would eat my hat if they'd make it up to their navels!'