Late night dates. These are by far the best. The servers are often so glad simply to see someone who isn’t falling down and drooling, that they are truly happy when they come ’round to take that order.
“Pancakes, eggs, some toast and – of course – whatever the lady is having.”
Smiling warmly, I take one last glance at the glossy menu and point to the picture of the waffles, I would be eternally upset if I got something other than those sticky pecan waffles, and asked if I could get them with extra butter. And some milk, plain if you have it. Oh and some hashbrowns maybe? Beautiful! I hand the menu over and returned the silent smirk that was beaming at me from his handsome face.
“It’s nearly two in the morning,” I say as I shift my shirt and curl my legs into the booth, “What were you expecting? A fruit salad?” My reward is another smirk accompanied by a nervous giggle at the sight of my bright red lounge pants. I raise one eyebrow in anticipation of the comment and when it finally comes it is a sputtering broken, “Nice pants.”
For nearly two hours we talked about the past year, movies we had seen, music we had learned, future plans, theology, psychology, radiology and the effects of gamma rays on man in the moon marigolds – yea right – until his end of things became decidedly quiet. For the love! How long has it been since he’s said anything? more importantly, how long has he been doing that puppy love “please don’t crush my frail heart” thing with his eyes… that are looking at me.
He has leaned back in his chair, hands folded neatly on his torso with a half smile hung on his face. I finished my thoughts as he nodded encouragement to prove he was indeed listening. Yet another pause while in my head I think about what’s going to come next. I know what’s coming next because I can see it in his face. He’s going to go relationship on me. And he did. He plowed into me with memories and smiles and all I could do was think how I could get out of it.
And this is what I thought. “Eat death.”