Waitresses

If you're anything like me, you're socially awkward.  And, if you're socially awkward, some aspects of restaurants intimidate you.  Namely, that awkward exchange mid-meal when the waiter/waitress asks: "How's everything?"

Theses are the top 3 things I do when this happens:

3. Nod and smile.  The waiter is long gone before I find my voice to speak, though.  This is probably due to the fact that there are french fries lodged in my throat at the time.  Good thing I'm not prone to choking.

2. Conveniently vanish to the bathroom to avoid the question.  He's already asking me if the food's okay.  Does he really have to ask me if I'm choking?

1. Nod like an idiot with food in my mouth and shoot him/her a thumbs up.  Hey, it's the best I can do, under the circumstances. 

And yes, I know they're supposed to use that time to ask you if you need anything else, check your drink levels, etc., but the whole reason I try to avoid the question is because I'm socially awkward, remember?  So, if I'm too shy to even answer your question, do you think I'm really going to speak up and ask for some Heimlich for my french fries? 

Then again, maybe I'm just over-thinking the situation.  Sheldon Cooper much?

Or, maybe I just shouldn't leave my house anymore.

My Perfect Vacation Love Story

This post is dedicated to my aunt, who wanted nothing more than for me to engage in a lively vacation romance while in Florida.  Well, now that I'm back, I feel it's my job to tell y'all about my romantic escapades with a savory character who shall for now remain nameless.

My story begins in a wonderful town known as Daytona Beach, specifically on the oceanfront, in our 18th story condo.  I was sitting around when my family decided to go out for a stroll along the beach.  So we did.

Our journey lead us down to a quaint little shop whose name escapes me now.  They sold ice cream, fudge, and taffy, among other candies.  I strode in confidently, unaware that my Prince Charming was just around the corner.  (And yes, this is a true story.)

Well, my family decided to get toffee after being bewitched by a taffy pulling machine in the front window.  I got a bag and started filling it with one of each fascinating flavor that managed to catch my eye, e.g. caramel apple, popcorn, bubblegum, and Belgian waffle.

That was when I saw him--on the top shelf, between Margarita and Honey, was a big bucket full of maple-bacon flavored taffy.

Simply put, I fell in love.  Until he melted on the beach and ended up fusing my beach towel to my backside.  That was a royal pain to get through security, I'll tell you.

Disclaimer: My dearest aunt,
If this did not fulfill your desire to read a story designed to set your heart aflutter, nothing will.  I might suggest your local library for what some might consider more edifying entertainment, or you could just accept that maple-bacon taffy is more attractive than any surfer dude.