She was visiting and didn't trust his cooking, so we all went out to the Cottonwood Cafe next to Porter Square.
The decor was upscale yuppie, and we were underdressed. He had steak, she had enchiladas, I had the duck, and Seth grumbled about the lack of vegetarian entries.
She and I talked about Cornell's Science & Society grad program. He and I discussed the talk.bizarre events of the day. Seth grumbled about his soup.
Halfway through the meal, he asked, "How are your enchiladas?"
With perfect timing, she replied, "Lonely."
He and I get a chuckle out of this, and she smirks. Seth says, "Huh? I don't get it."
Out of nowhere, the waiter appears, having evidently overheard something. "Is everything alright with your enchiladas?"
He and I are barely holding back our laughter, until she stares up at the waiter and answers with perfect innocence, "Oh no. They're fine."
He and I are rolling on the floor, the waiter pretends not to notice and quickly moves away from the table, and Seth says, "Huh? Did I miss something?"
We try to explain it to him later, but eventually give up.