Swallowing Nerves and Stomach Bile
(or My First Full Weekend at Roatoen)
Glasses clinked and music bared as my companion and I diligently followed the hostess through the ever-growing sea of people. On that muggy Saturday night, it seemed as if Macado's was the "place to be" for the natives and tourists alike of Roatoen. After what seemed like an eternity, we made it to a booth located on the outskirts of the hustle and bustle of the local watering hole. Within seconds of being seated, we were approached by a waitress with pale blonde hair and a too big smile plastered on to her face.
"Hi there, welcome to Macado's!" She drawled. "What can I get for y'all?"
We practically had to shout our drink orders over the defening hoots and hollers of the other patrons. Nevertheless, the waitress manadged to jot them down with out a problem and hurried to her next table. Finally, we were alone.
As far as first dates are concerned, I'd say the night was going pretty well.
My companion (let's call him Charlie) and I had spent most of the afternoon hiking and enjoying the breathtaking scenery of the Mill Mountain Star. We stayed there for hours, just walking and talking about everything and nothing all at once. It was only when my stomach started growling at an obscenely loud volume that Charlie suggested getting some dinner. Hand in hand, we made our way back to his S.U.V. and onward to the resturaunt.
As we sat and chatted over the menu, my eyes were drawn to the different knick -knacks and newspaper clippings strewn along the panelled walls. This place really was an institution, it seemed. Everywhere I looked, there were people laughing or cheering at some nameless sports event. The aromas of cheap beer and overstuffed sandwiches permiated the air in an inviting way.
Oh yeah, this was a good choice... At least it was until the food arrived.
I had only taken maybe two bites of my chicken sandwich when my stomach started to churn. My head began to pound and I felt my mouth pool with saliva. Oh no. No. No. No.No. No. No. No No. This could not be happening. Not now. Oh please God, not now, I chanted internally. Here I was, on my very first date with a cute guy I'd had my eye on since we'd arrived and I was about to vomit everywhere! Talk about mortifying.
"So are you not hungry or something?" Charlie asked, eyeing my barely touched food.
Oh great, I thought bitterly, here it comes. I was going to be one of those girls, the ones that makes a guy take them out and pay for dinner and then doesn't even take a bite. In short, the kiss of death for first dates. I was so convinced that he would end up paying the check and then angrily drive away; leaving me to walk home while probably puking my guts out the whole way.
I was screwed.
Yet, the blow never came and my stomach contents (thankfully) decided not to make a special guest appearance. Instead, he asked about my well being and took be back to my room. We spent the rest of the evening watching a show full of "guy humor" and cuddling. After I chugged a half a bottle of pepto bismol, of course.
All in all, it was a great- vomitless- night.