So I thought I was done for the day with my last post, but then I started thinking about the freshmen 15. Sure, it happens to the naive first-years that are foolish enough to go for the fried chicken from the Jester cafeteria or the Union Wendy’s, but it couldn’t happen to me. Never me. Never your trusty blogger. Sigh. I think it’s storytime.
(The boyfriend and me at Chili’s)
Waitress #1: What can I get you to start with?
The Boyfriend: I’ll have a side salad first, please. And then the turkey sandwich.
Waitress #1: Sure. Sweetheart, would you like a salad too?
Me: What? Oh. No, thanks. Can I just have the steak? And an extra rack of ribs… please.
Waitress #1: (giggles) Sure thing.
Me: Why was she laughing?
The Boyfriend: (stifling his own GIGGLE) I have no idea.
(Waitress #2 comes to the table with the salad)
Watiress #2: The salad for the lady.
Me: I didn’t order one.
Waitress #2: (awkward pause) Oh.
(she leaves and Waitress #3 enters with the entrees)
Waitress #3: Here’s your steak, sir.
Me: Um, that’s mine.
Waitress #3: Oh. Hahaha I’m sorry. Here’s your turkey sandwich, sir. And the rack of ribs-
Me: That’s mine too.
Waitress #3: WELL! That’s my kind of woman!
It was that night that I realized… I… I was becoming a victim of the freshmen 15! And the consequence was that it was causing unbearable and irritating confusion amongst the waiters and waitresses of yuppy American restaurants. AND I was causing a perpetual state of role reversal with the boyfriend. Gasp. THIS MADNESS MUST BE STOPPED. ORDER MUST BE RESTORED TO THE SYSTEM OF MENU ORDERING.
So I signed up for a Fundraising 5K Run coming up. There will be a happy ending to this. If not, I’ll update after the run from Breckenridge Hospital, where I’ll lose the weight anyway by eating those secret laxatives they call jello.