This morning at the diner I thought to myself, “You know what? I’d like to start this day off with a massive heart attack.”
I told the waitress and she replied, “We have just what you’re looking for.”
Somewhere underneath that avalanche of gravy is a biscuit. I couldn’t finish it (because it was approximately the size of my skull), so I asked for a box to take it to go. The waitress asked if I wanted some extra gravy to go. I guess the gravy slowed down my reaction time, because I responded by staring blankly in her general direction for about ten seconds. She took that as a yes and gave me a medium-sized styrofoam cup full of the stuff. I couldn’t tell if she was being nice and giving me the gravy hook-up, or if this was a veiled insult and she thinks I literally drink gravy.