The Wednesday Worrier

It's that time again... 

The Wednesday Worrier!

Ironically, I've been stressing about writing my weekly edition about stress.

Well, Let's get to it-

The Title of the Article is called

The Fear of Fresca at Famous Dave's
(NOTE: This is not the real name of the restaurant, the actual name sadly did not start with an F)

I found myself at a restaurant recently surrounded by people who I thought were understanding friends and loved ones (We all find out eventually...). Following a few moments of joyous conversation, we scanned our menus that Haille (as her name-tag and gorgeous smile informed us) provided for us. While I was lost in her eyes I noticed her lips moving. She asked a question that took me a few moments to gather and process. "Can I start you off with any drinks?' In sequence, my supposed friends would say "water", "water", As if they were voting on which was the most manly beverage to drink; wimps. My anxiety began to grow as my turn drew near. How could I break the pattern? How could I say something other than water? I would become the biggest brat on the table (and my masculinity was in question as demonstrated by our pre-order conversation). Imagine the ridicule if I requested a Diet Sprite! Do they even make Diet Sprite? I don't know; I didn't get a good look at the menu! My fate approached me like a French noble staring at a guillotine. As it became my turn my mind reminded me that we were conveniently arranged in somewhat of a circle allowing for all eyes to be on me, including the odd retired couple in the booth next to us. The pressure spiked, I panicked. With her pen prepped, Haille's barely 18 year old eyes signaled to me. I could hardly move air out of my lungs. I gave a slight groan. There! I had done it! It I had broken the rhythmic pattern of "water". This caused alarm. Why didn't I just shut off my head and been content with water like the others!?! Everyone (including Frank and Gina, our retired friends in the booth) looked up from their menus. Tension filled the Italian themed air. What was I going to order? They questioned me. I didn't know; I was in shock. Immediately those located next to me became the beverage-paramedics, grasping for the drink list. The air erupted into suggestions. All I could make out in the haze was Ginger-ale (which sounded fantastic) and something with "ueberry" in it. My order had become point of debate for our newly formed committee and I, the delegate from the seat next to the large painting of nude Italians sunbathing, had disrupted the peace treaty. I was suffering from lack of gravity syndrome and the debate degenerated to resemble UN peace talks during the Cold War. I shouted "That! I'll have that!" when gravity returned to me. Dust settled, but the table was still a demilitarized zone. An awkward tension remained over the table (at least until our appetizer showed up). Haille's smile also didn't shine like it had, long ago, about 15 minutes before. The meal was eaten and paid for with no further problems. My Glueberry lemonade was...odd. As I have demonstrated, ordering a drink is probably one of the more painful experiences in existence. 

The End

Special Thanks to Caille for her development of the idea, Kara, Brandon, Ryan, Mckay and all my proof-readers who can't get their homework done until my nagging is through.

(NOTE: the term- lack of gravity syndrome and "when the gravity returned to me" are registered trademarks of the DtotheE Productions (R with a circle goes here)