Dinner at a Mexican Restaurant

You head to a local Mexican restaurant, a comfy little place just down the street. Right as you’re about to push open the door, somebody bumps into you, and a phone clatters to the ground. You bend down to pick it up, and as you hand over the phone, you realise that you recognise that austere face.

“Charmaine!” you cry, and she looks at you with surprise.

“Oh, hey Alex,” she says. “Thanks for getting my phone. Were you… um… about to eat here?”

“Yeah, you want to join me?” you ask, getting at what she was too afraid to say.

“Oh yeah… sure… sure,” Charmaine says, and you smile, opening the door for her.

The two of you find a booth by the back, where a waiter quickly takes your order.

“How’s your day been?” she asks you. Her almond eyes bore into you, as if expecting a witty, thoughtful response.

“Kinda crap,” you say. “Or at least, that’s what the doctor ordered. They wanted a sample to make sure I’m in the all clear.”

Charmaine makes a face at you, clearly a little grossed out. “We’re about to eat!”

“Sorry, that was a shit joke,” you say.

“No, puns are not better.”

“Can’t help it, I’m just stooling until the food gets here,” you say.

Charmaine groans. “You know how we’re all going to have write a junior thesis? Well, my feces is going to be that guys are just incorrigible.”

You face palm. “That was worse than any of mine! You have no right to complain.”

“Poo-r you, I was just giving you a taste of your own medicine,” she says innocently.

“Don’t play turdy,” you retort, and she gives you an approving nod, the hint of a smile crossing her face for the first time tonight.

Your food soon arrives, and you dig in, appetites strangely unhindered despite the horrific puns. These places really know how to make their tacos, and you slather down more of the hot sauce than is probably good for you.

Moments later, your mouth is burning, and you’re gulping down the horchata you ordered like there’s no tomorrow. You can feel your face turn bright red, and you glance at Charmaine, who has is handling her burrito with far more grace.

“You’re looking hot,” she says. “Um.. no, I meant, the tacos look like they were really hot. Like, you put a lot of the red sauce on it, so it must be hot, right?”

“Like hell I’m hot,” you say, fanning your tongue between sentences. “I swear that chilli wasn’t there a minute ago.”

“Take it easy,” she says. “You don’t want to end up in the hospital again, do you?”

“No, this is good. This shit’ll burn up anything living left in my gut,” you say. “I’m going to give these parasite babies living **** like they never could have imagined.”

“You know, I was fine with the shit jokes,” Charmaine says, “but that was an image I really didn’t need.”

“Sorry,” you say, coughing from some of the residual spice.

When you finally look up, you see a red-headed girl take a seat in the booth next to yours. It’s Elsie!

Charmaine +5