A really bizarre thing happened the other night.  I was out to eat with friends at a new-to-me Italian restaurant here in Charlotte.  I’d  suggested the restaurant solely because I wanted eat their bucatini with grilled shrimp, pancetta, and tomato sauce on the Queen’s Feast restaurant week menu.  And if that’s not reason enough to force three of your comrades to dine at a restaurant, I don’t know what is.  When the waiter took our order, I pointed at the menu and said “I’d like the Shrimp Romana, please.”  Thirty or so minutes later, I was presented with a shrimp pasta dish, though this one had penne (not my beloved bucatini) and a white wine sauce.  I was so caught off guard, that I flagged down the waiter and asked if the dish was what I ordered.  He hastily assured me it was.  And I, somewhat embarrassed and not wanting to cause a scene, ordered another glass of wine and tried to hide my disappointment.  What the heck, Mary?!  I had never EVER ordered something wrong like this!  I was befuddled and sort of sour at the whole situation.