Do I dare order chicken? No, haddock. I am hungry. I eat greedily. He picks at his meal and watches me, already bored. I do not know if I should stop or speed up. Hunger overcomes pride, and I consume the remains of the meal, uncomfortably too predictable. When the waiter asked if he wanted the leftovers wrapped, he laughed. No. I marvel at his extravagance. I have no leftovers. He orders dessert. I am flustered. I have never eaten dessert in a restaurant before. "Vanilla ice cream," I nervously mumble, "sounds great." Bland like me, I think, appropriate. I grin. We go to a movie. He doesn't realize that the show I have been watching just ended, a foreign experience lacking subtitles to guide me. The movie on the screen is but a dim shadow of a world I do not understand, nor want to exist. I'm waiting for a movie in which the leftovers are taken home. Now I dine alone on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches happily and remember eating out and the seventeen dollar tip.
Reason for writing:
College- the first guy I liked.
It didn't last long. He moved on.
Birth sign: Not entered
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