Pam, our waitress, walked over to our table and said, “aren’t they just delicious?”

“Huh?” I said, staring too long at her chest.

“The milkshakes – aren’t they just divine?”

“Yes, impressive,” I said, shifting my gaze to her name tag. “(T)it’s fine. I mean, it’s fine. What I mean is that they’re delicious – not them or what you thought I meant, but that they, I mean this, this milkshake that I’m squeezing right now – tastes great. Not that I like to squeeze things, but- Thank you. Thank you, Pam.”

“You know – they’re so full of milk they just melt in your mouth. Sometimes our chef will just suck on one of them all day? Kind of a nice treat while you’re at work. Don’t you think?”

“Um, yes, I think I’d like that as an option at work. Yes, of course I would. Who wouldn’t?”

“Is this your first time?”

“Huh?”

“First time at the diner, silly? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. Is that your big red one?”

“What?”

“That red truck by the entrance. Don’t you drive a Ford Ranger?”