My rents would be approaching soon, but I had arrived first. The hostess showed me to my table, reserved for three.

Knowing I had a short time before the waitress confronted me, I had to decide. Was I hungry enough for an appetizer. And if so. What kind of appetizer?

Chicken wings? Nah. Too cliche. Mashed up corn mess deep fried into nugget form. You gotta be desperate to eat that. Fried okra. I don’t get okra, but frying makes it more in common with my vernacular.

You know what. Maybe I wasn’t that hungry for an appetizer.

“Hi, hon,” she said. “Can I get you something to drink before your company shows up?”

Sure, I rattle off my usual thirst quencher request the same way she came to my table—without looking at her.

“Do you want to order an appetizer while you wait?”

To stall, I asked what appetizers they offered, even though I knew they fell into two categories: too cliche or too weird. But I felt a pang in my stomach when she mentioned onion rings.

“Oo. Gotcha,” she noted.