{"id":1740,"date":"2025-08-26T03:39:02","date_gmt":"2025-08-26T03:39:02","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740"},"modified":"2025-08-26T03:39:02","modified_gmt":"2025-08-26T03:39:02","slug":"the-restaurant-reservation-was-under-her-name-not-mine","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740","title":{"rendered":"The Restaurant Reservation Was Under Her Name, Not Mine"},"content":{"rendered":"

I always thought anniversaries were supposed to be proof\u2014proof that love could last, proof that the promises we made weren\u2019t fragile words but something stronger, proof that we still chose each other, year after year. That\u2019s what I told myself as I curled my hair and put on the dress he once called his favorite. It had been a long week, and I wanted that night to remind us of who we were before the fights, before the silences, before the distance.<\/span><\/p>\n

He insisted he\u2019d made reservations at \u201ca place I\u2019d love.\u201d He wouldn\u2019t tell me where, just smiled that half-smile that used to melt me, and said, \u201cIt\u2019s a surprise. Just trust me.\u201d So I did. I let myself trust him.<\/span><\/p>\n

The restaurant was beautiful, the kind of place with soft candlelight at every table, violins playing faintly from speakers hidden in the ceiling, and waiters who glided instead of walked. My heart lifted. Maybe he really had tried. Maybe this was his way of showing me he still cared.<\/span><\/p>\n

When we approached the hostess stand, I leaned against him, happy for the first time in weeks. The hostess smiled. \u201cName for the reservation?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He answered quickly, confidently. \u201cThompson.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She scanned the list. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, sir, we don\u2019t have anything under that name tonight.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

His brows furrowed. \u201cCheck again. I made it days ago.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I felt a prickle of unease. The hostess flipped through the pages, then looked up. \u201cWe do have a reservation at that time\u2026 under the name \u2018Lena Carter.\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The blood drained from my face. My name isn\u2019t Lena.<\/span><\/p>\n

I turned to him, searching his face for an explanation. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, his jaw tightening. The hostess waited politely, oblivious to the way my chest had begun to cave in.<\/span><\/p>\n

He forced a laugh. \u201cOh\u2014right. Sorry. That\u2019s us. Lena is\u2026 it\u2019s a nickname.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

A nickname? He had never once called me Lena. My name is Grace, and I\u2019d been Grace every day of our marriage. My skin went cold, my hands trembling as the hostess led us to a table. He pulled out my chair like nothing was wrong, but I sat stiffly, my mind spinning.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWho is Lena?\u201d I asked as soon as we were alone. My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn\u2019t care.<\/span><\/p>\n

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. \u201cIt\u2019s nothing. Just\u2026 someone I know. She made the reservation for me, that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFor you?\u201d My laugh was bitter. \u201cSo now strange women are making reservations for our anniversary dinner?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

\u201cGrace, calm down. Don\u2019t make a scene.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The way he said it, low and clipped, as if I were embarrassing him, made my blood boil. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t have to \u2018make a scene\u2019 if you weren\u2019t lying to me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He leaned closer, his eyes hard. \u201cIt\u2019s not what you think. She\u2019s just a coworker. She got me a favor at this restaurant because I couldn\u2019t get in myself.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

A coworker. That was the word men used when they wanted to pretend intimacy was innocent. The word they hid behind when the truth was too ugly to admit.<\/span><\/p>\n

The waiter arrived before I could answer, placing menus in front of us with a rehearsed smile. I ordered nothing. My appetite had vanished.<\/span><\/p>\n

All through dinner, I watched him. The way he avoided my eyes. The way he overcompensated with too much charm for the waiter, too much small talk that felt like filler. Every detail screamed guilt. Every detail screamed Lena.<\/span><\/p>\n

Halfway through, when he went to the restroom, I pulled out my phone. My hands shook as I typed her name into social media. It didn\u2019t take long. There she was\u2014Lena Carter. Smiling. Pretty. Younger. And there, on her profile, a recent post: \u201cSo excited to finally try the new French place tonight.\u201d A photo of the same restaurant we were sitting in. My heart stopped.<\/span><\/p>\n

She was here.<\/span><\/p>\n

I dropped my phone, the clatter muffled against the velvet chair. He returned, adjusting his sleeves, pretending everything was normal. I stared at him, my throat burning with questions I already knew the answers to.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDid you invite her here?\u201d I whispered, my voice breaking.<\/span><\/p>\n

He froze, then recovered too quickly. \u201cOf course not.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

But his eyes flickered, just once, toward the back of the restaurant. I followed his gaze. And there she was. Sitting at a corner table, laughing with a friend, a glass of wine in her hand. Her eyes met mine across the room for a brief, electric second. She knew who I was. I could see it in her smile\u2014the kind that wasn\u2019t quite pity, wasn\u2019t quite triumph, but something in between.<\/span><\/p>\n

I stood abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. Conversations at nearby tables paused. He hissed my name, trying to calm me, but I was already walking away. Past the violins, past the candlelight, past Lena Carter\u2019s knowing eyes.<\/span><\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t stop until I reached the parking lot. The night air was sharp against my skin, my breath fogging as if my body was trying to purge the poison inside me. He followed, calling after me, but I kept walking. I couldn\u2019t sit there another second, pretending.<\/span><\/p>\n

At home, the silence was deafening. He tried to explain again, words like \u201ccoworker\u201d and \u201cmisunderstanding\u201d and \u201cfavor\u201d tumbling out of his mouth like broken glass. I didn\u2019t believe a word. The reservation had been under her name. The post had been hers. The glance he gave her wasn\u2019t one of strangers.<\/span><\/p>\n

That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the glow of my phone lighting up the room as I scrolled through her photos again and again. The dinners. The vacations. The smiles. My husband\u2019s name appearing in the comments, casual, playful, familiar.<\/span><\/p>\n

By morning, I knew. It wasn\u2019t just a reservation. It was proof. Proof that my marriage had been unraveling long before I noticed the threads.<\/span><\/p>\n

Final Thought<\/b>
\n<\/b> Betrayal doesn\u2019t always show up as lipstick on a collar or a whispered phone call in the dark. Sometimes it\u2019s hidden in plain sight\u2014in a reservation under the wrong name, in a smile exchanged across a crowded room. That night taught me the truth I didn\u2019t want to see: sometimes the smallest details are the loudest confessions.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I always thought anniversaries were supposed to be proof\u2014proof that love could last, proof that the promises we made weren\u2019t fragile words but something stronger, proof that we still chose each other, year after year. That\u2019s what I told myself as I curled my hair and put on the dress he once called his favorite. It had been a long week, and I wanted that night to remind us of who we were before the fights, before the silences, before the distance. He insisted he\u2019d made reservations at \u201ca place…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":1724,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[14,3,5,10,4,15],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1740","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blog","category-entertainment","category-feature-post","category-featured","category-lifestyle","category-trend"],"gutentor_comment":6,"yoast_head":"\nThe Restaurant Reservation Was Under Her Name, Not Mine - Old Aged Humor<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Restaurant Reservation Was Under Her Name, Not Mine - Old Aged Humor\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"I always thought anniversaries were supposed to be proof\u2014proof that love could last, proof that the promises we made weren\u2019t fragile words but something stronger, proof that we still chose each other, year after year. That\u2019s what I told myself as I curled my hair and put on the dress he once called his favorite. It had been a long week, and I wanted that night to remind us of who we were before the fights, before the silences, before the distance. He insisted he\u2019d made reservations at \u201ca place…\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Old Aged Humor\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2025-08-26T03:39:02+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/23-7.webp\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1024\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1536\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/webp\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Destiny Denver\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Destiny Denver\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"6 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=1740#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=1740\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Destiny Denver\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/bc7629c79dd98873477de0fb4a90d24d\"},\"headline\":\"The Restaurant Reservation Was Under Her Name, Not Mine\",\"datePublished\":\"2025-08-26T03:39:02+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=1740\"},\"wordCount\":1095,\"commentCount\":0,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=1740#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/08\\\/23-7.webp\",\"articleSection\":[\"blog\",\"Entertainment\",\"Feature Post\",\"Featured\",\"Lifestyle\",\"trend\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"CommentAction\",\"name\":\"Comment\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=1740#respond\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=1740\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=1740\",\"name\":\"The Restaurant Reservation Was Under Her Name, Not Mine - Old Aged Humor\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=1740#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=1740#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/08\\\/23-7.webp\",\"datePublished\":\"2025-08-26T03:39:02+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=1740#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=1740\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=1740#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/08\\\/23-7.webp\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/08\\\/23-7.webp\",\"width\":1024,\"height\":1536},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=1740#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"The Restaurant Reservation Was Under Her Name, Not Mine\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"Old Aged Humor\",\"description\":\"Proof That Age and Humor Only Get Better Together\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"Old Aged Humor\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/08\\\/cropped-cropped-97da200e-7eb0-4389-9408-e3e79b35f1ab-2.png\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/08\\\/cropped-cropped-97da200e-7eb0-4389-9408-e3e79b35f1ab-2.png\",\"width\":290,\"height\":79,\"caption\":\"Old Aged Humor\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"}},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/bc7629c79dd98873477de0fb4a90d24d\",\"name\":\"Destiny Denver\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/51bc23eedfdade3ea514a5cf7610b58910204d6b8e6d03f02622cae720112085?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/51bc23eedfdade3ea514a5cf7610b58910204d6b8e6d03f02622cae720112085?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/51bc23eedfdade3ea514a5cf7610b58910204d6b8e6d03f02622cae720112085?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Destiny Denver\"},\"sameAs\":[\"http:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\"],\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?author=2\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"The Restaurant Reservation Was Under Her Name, Not Mine - Old Aged Humor","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"The Restaurant Reservation Was Under Her Name, Not Mine - Old Aged Humor","og_description":"I always thought anniversaries were supposed to be proof\u2014proof that love could last, proof that the promises we made weren\u2019t fragile words but something stronger, proof that we still chose each other, year after year. That\u2019s what I told myself as I curled my hair and put on the dress he once called his favorite. It had been a long week, and I wanted that night to remind us of who we were before the fights, before the silences, before the distance. He insisted he\u2019d made reservations at \u201ca place…","og_url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740","og_site_name":"Old Aged Humor","article_published_time":"2025-08-26T03:39:02+00:00","og_image":[{"width":1024,"height":1536,"url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/23-7.webp","type":"image\/webp"}],"author":"Destiny Denver","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Destiny Denver","Est. reading time":"6 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740"},"author":{"name":"Destiny Denver","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#\/schema\/person\/bc7629c79dd98873477de0fb4a90d24d"},"headline":"The Restaurant Reservation Was Under Her Name, Not Mine","datePublished":"2025-08-26T03:39:02+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740"},"wordCount":1095,"commentCount":0,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/23-7.webp","articleSection":["blog","Entertainment","Feature Post","Featured","Lifestyle","trend"],"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"CommentAction","name":"Comment","target":["https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740#respond"]}]},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740","url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740","name":"The Restaurant Reservation Was Under Her Name, Not Mine - Old Aged Humor","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/23-7.webp","datePublished":"2025-08-26T03:39:02+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/23-7.webp","contentUrl":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/23-7.webp","width":1024,"height":1536},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=1740#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"The Restaurant Reservation Was Under Her Name, Not Mine"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/","name":"Old Aged Humor","description":"Proof That Age and Humor Only Get Better Together","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#organization","name":"Old Aged Humor","url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/cropped-cropped-97da200e-7eb0-4389-9408-e3e79b35f1ab-2.png","contentUrl":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/cropped-cropped-97da200e-7eb0-4389-9408-e3e79b35f1ab-2.png","width":290,"height":79,"caption":"Old Aged Humor"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"}},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#\/schema\/person\/bc7629c79dd98873477de0fb4a90d24d","name":"Destiny Denver","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/51bc23eedfdade3ea514a5cf7610b58910204d6b8e6d03f02622cae720112085?s=96&d=mm&r=g","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/51bc23eedfdade3ea514a5cf7610b58910204d6b8e6d03f02622cae720112085?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/51bc23eedfdade3ea514a5cf7610b58910204d6b8e6d03f02622cae720112085?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Destiny Denver"},"sameAs":["http:\/\/oldagedhumor.com"],"url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?author=2"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1740","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1740"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1740\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1741,"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1740\/revisions\/1741"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1724"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1740"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1740"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1740"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}