can't wait

"I only date women that look like my mother," explains the belated waiter serving at a restaurant in South Pasadena. "At least you accept that," I retort, intrigued by his frank response to the question, 'Did you find the tallness of women in Copenhagen attractive?' The waiter continues, "My girlfriends have all been short with dark hair and a large nose." What started out as a conversation on what to order has digressed into a wet dream that would bring a grin to Freud's face.

A conversation of this sort would generally amuse but, having just finished 90-minutes of Bikram yoga, this conversation was boarding bemusement then anything else. The waiter drifts back from his therapist's couch long enough to say that my date's coupon entitled use to free everything save drinks. I explain that neither of us is drinking alcohol because we just finished yoga and inquire about recommendations. The waiter suggests a salad and a sausage pizza. Since my date is Jewish we decide to each order a different salad, a vegetarian pizza and a root beer. The waiter makes a mental note of our order before continuing, "I used to do yoga but it got so expensive and the tips here aren't great."

'Jesus,' I think, 'This guy is a bad charactechure of himself.' He leaves and we continue discussing yoga and the season finality of Mad Men. Our salads arrive, neither of which are the one's we order but by now we are hungry and eat them anyways. I was impressed with my pomegranate, pear, arugula and mixed green salad with citrus vinaigrette. She enjoys her salad, which is an odd mix of tuna, potatoes and mixed greens. Although hungry, the salad is complex and filling so I limit how much I eat to save room for the wood-fire pizza, as does she. When the waiter returns with waters in tow, he asks to take her plate. She responds, "I'm not sure I don't like to waste food and I'm still..." I tell the waiter I am done and he grabs both of our plates and leaves.

The waiter mistakes curtness for promptness while interpreting my indifference for interest. "I guess you were done," I jest. She laughs and we wait for our pizza despite being the only patrons left in the restaurant. "Here's your pizza?" asks the waiter, presents us with the sausage pizza he recommended not the vegetarian pizza we ordered. While my date is only medium Jewish, she doesn't eat pork but is a good sport about picking off the sausage. He wanted to have sex with someone who looked liked his mother. I wanted to get what I ordered.
1