Salad Crush

I visit the local Pizza & Pasta restaurant to take away a salad which is really just a translucent plastic take-out bowl of chopped carrots, cucumbers, tomatoes, mushrooms, lettuce and cheese. No olives at my request.

Sitting inside is the familiar form of a teenage crush I once had, but who had barely acknowledged my existence; instead choosing to engage in a torrid romance with a friend of mine.

Today, she is with a formally dressed gentleman and dressed quite attractively herself. Not wanting to intrude, I wave to her from where I stand at the cashier, however she beckons me closer and extends her arms for an embrace; we haven’t seen each other in many years. Holding her I look down to the seated gentleman to acknowledge his presence, but he keeps his eyes lowered.

She looks me over, commenting that I look good, and that she wants my phone number because she has attempted to ring me up in the past but the calls never connected. I tell her that she looks taller and glance down at the gentleman; his eyes are still lowered and his watch is made of gold.

I recite the digits and to her surprise she does have my phone number stored in her mobile contacts. She again says that I look good and that we need to get together soon. I tell her again that she seems taller and I glance down at the gentleman; his eyes are still lowered and his shoes are very shiny.

Saying goodbye, I go to place my order. I make sure to sit where I won’t see her. My salad is ready; I receive it, then leave.

There’s too much cheese on the salad.

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