Aziraphale gave a long-suffering sigh, decidedly not rolling his eyes, and turned his gaze back to his menu, perusing through the list.

"Gewurztraminer?" he asked Crowley. "Unless you'd prefer something else entirely?"

(The waiter apologized and offered to pay for the blouse, which coincidentally matched a very grand tip he'd been left in the next receipt to pick up. The woman's date also very gallantly gave her his jacket to wear, which miraculously fit.)