Snippet From My Day #8

He loves lemon rice soup and orders it anytime we eat at Paragon; today was no exception. The waitress returned with his soup and plunked it down in front of him while he was preparing his coffee. She turned to me for my order.

Waitress: What'll it be?

Me: I'll have the melting pot skillet, but could you replace the American cheese with mozzarella?

I hate American cheese.

Waitress: Sure can! How do you take your eggs?

Me: Scrambled.

Waitress: Toast?

Me: Wheat, buttered.

She turned to Jim for his order, and for once, he was the one scouring the menu with indecision. He flapped his sugar packets back and forth, forcing their contents to the other end of the tiny envelope they dwell in, and made his decision.

Jim: I'll have the Confederate skillet.

Waitress: How do you take your eggs?

He tore open the sugar packets, completely bypassed his coffee and upended them directly into his soup. Without missing a beat, he nonchalantly began scooping ruined soup out of his bowl onto its accompanying saucer.

Jim: Uh, scrambled. Rye toast, buttered.

I blinked at him. Was he trying to play this off?!

Me: Did you just dump sugar in your soup?!

He glared at me.

Jim: Yes. Yes, I did.

Waitress: Oh, I'll get you another bowl! You can't eat that one, it won't taste right!

Jim: . . . thanks.

He looked like he wanted to crawl into a crack in his vinyl booth seat. I snickered at his discomfiture- this is the sort of gracelessness he usually gives me shit for. The waitress departed to retrieve his cup of do-over.

Me: I'm telling everyone. I'm sending a mass text right. now.

He whipped out his phone and waved it menacingly at me.

Jim: I'll text first and tell everyone you did it. You know they'll believe me, and your text will just make you look bitter.

It was true. Everyone would believe him, and to make matters worse, he texts much faster than I do. Reluctantly, I lowered my weapon, and he resheathed his. But that's alright, I have a secret weapon he has no defense against: a blog.