This Always Happens

This morning Devoted Spouse and I went out for a nice, leisurely breakfast at one of our favorite spots, a small restaurant called First Watch.  I had a hankering for some eggs and His Honor wanted to splurge on cranberry nut pancakes.  Every empty fat cell in my slightly-slimmer-these-days-middle-aged body sat up and took notice at the thought a stray piece of pancake may come their way.  You see, I have a tendency to “sample” what is on Devoted Spouse’s plate occasionally.  Just a nibble of bacon or one bite of pancake – not much, and I always politely ask first.  I still have the stab marks from his fork the time I reached over and took without asking.  Okay – I’m only kidding…it’s a knife scar — no, no, no, I’m really just kidding.  Anyway…

So we’re enjoying some excellent coffee and chatting about useless bits of worthless information as you do when you are waiting for food to arrive.  Suddenly, steaming plates of yummy stuff arrive and we commence to chow down.  Amidst much lip smacking and sounds of approval Devoted Spouse pipes up with, “Where’s my juice?”  I put my fork down, raised my eyebrows (which I can do because I don’t Botox), and replied, “This always happens to you.”  Every time we order breakfast, Devoted Spouse’s juice either doesn’t arrive or arrives just prior to the check.  I believe he’s getting a complex about ordering juice.  I never order juice, so this doesn’t truly bother me, but Devoted Spouse is getting somewhat concerned. 

Here’s my solution to this dilemma — I propose Devoted Spouse wear a brightly colored lapel button with the following catch phrase:  Ask Me About My Juice.  Now, this could either lead to an interesting conversation, and possibly a request for us to vacate the restaurant, or it could ensure timely receipt of that forgotten glass of orange juice.  Maybe Devoted Spouse should just forget about ordering juice entirely.  But, then with his luck his side order of bacon might not appear.  And, I really don’t want to suggest a new button with the phrase Ask Me About My Bacon – we’d certainly never be invited back to that restaurant again.

Going out for breakfast used to be so simple. 



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