SCARED I MIGHT BE TURNING INTO THAT PERSON

We all know them -- that person that you hate going to restaurants with.  The one who is so picky they can never order anything as-is off the menu, and must spend 30 minutes holding up their starving table-mates while they enumerate all their special requests for the poor waiter.  Then, when the food finally does come out, there is always something wrong with theirs, and it must be sent back.  We've dropped out of dinner clubs before, because of prima donnas like that, yet now I fear I just might be turning into one myself!

I haven't started sending food back yet, but I am getting bold enough to be a little more specific when I order, especially when it's a place I go to frequently.  For instance, my husband often snickers when I say "I'll have a diet coke with a couple of lime slices, and the 'Loaded Baked Potato' -- no butter, no sour cream, side of salsa."  He always points out that one can't really call it "loaded" if one leaves off all the "good stuff".  Can I help it if that's the way I like it?

But this?  This has never happened to me before.  We were driving over to Johnson City this weekend for an art show, and decided it would be the perfect time to try out a restaurant there that's been recommended many times.  Their special of the day was meat loaf with tomato relish, mashed potatoes and green beans - one of my hubby's favorites, but not something I usually order.  However, on that day it just sounded really good to me.  Looked good too, though it smelled, well, not bad, just...different.  I took a great big bite, then froze.  I guess I was trying to analyze the disconnect between what I was expecting, and what I was tasting.  I finally came too when I heard my husband snorting.  "Man, you should see the look on your face!" he chortled.

I'm not sure how to describe it other than to say it was cinnamony-sweet.  Some people might really like it, but I've hated cinnamon with tomatoes ever since we were served spaghetti with cinnamon sauce at the American Club in Bahrain once.  I didn't complain, since it was a strictly personal thing, I just didn't eat it.  John took one bite, but didn't offer to take it off my hands.  He just handed me half his sandwich.

There was no way to rearrange that meatloaf, to make it look like I ate most of it, so of course our waitress was upset when she came to clear the plates.  She offered to bring me a different entree.  She offerred me a dessert.  I said no, thanks, that really wasn't necessary.  It was just me.  When the bill came out, she had removed my meal from it.  I felt really bad.  I doubled her tip.  I promise to behave myself if you ever go out to eat with me.