" I never was one for much walking." 

" It appears you aren't." 

This conversation made my experience all the more unpleasant. Yes, I wasn't one for walking; did this really need a reply as such from this talking head across from me, making idle talk for no apparent reason. She knows just as well as me that this isn't going to even pass the preliminary stages. I glance across at the table at the female sitting there, and I quickly shift my eyes to avoid making such contact. Now this may come off as being arrogant and and self-centered, but I've had better before this one, and, unless I suddenly turn into a huge cockroach (thanks Kafka), I will certainly have better after it. I catch her looking vacantly at the menu, her tongue just fidgeting around on her upper lip, deep in concentration. I manage to sneak a look at my watch, telling my that it's time to end this while it's still juvenile.

" Hey, Cheryl. Cheryl. Hello?"

" Oh, sorry!"

Her face went bright red as she began to laugh, as if I had just told the joke from which all others originated. Her laughing began to recede as she finished her sentence:

" I was just choosing what salad to order."

Now, this was fantastic. A fitting end to the proceedings. A coffin nail, if you will. I HATE people, ESPECIALLY females, who, when taken out to dinner, then decide to order a salad. A salad is not a meal, nor was it ever intended to be. It is merely a way of saying, screaming "I'M BORING!". Thank god she was one of the boring ones. Had she ordered a Prime Steak, things may have been different.

" Cheryl, I have to tell you something. It's not something that I'm proud of doing to you, and I'm sorry it ever got this far."

The part when their faces change colour is my personal favourite. It happens to be my favourite part of nights with outcomes like these.

" What is it? What have you done?"

" Cheryl... I'm Gay."

RATE THIS CHAPTER!