I’m not a bad person. Did I assassinate the President of the United States? Yes. And that’s not great. I’ll admit that. I’m probably going to keep “President assassinator” off my future job applications, even though I was actually really good at it and it was my first time.

If you were in my shoes, you would have done the same thing. Hear me out.

Imagine you’re a 38 year old single man with above average good looks. Why a handsome devil like you is still single is a mystery for the ages, like the recipe for KFC’s chicken or whether the earth is flat or not.

Let’s say you had a bad day at work. You’d think that after nearly ten years they’d respect you more, but no. One little mistake, and they never let you forget it. Will Jacklyn from accounting have permanent hearing loss in her left ear? Yes, but lots of people have had it worse than her and accomplished amazing things. Look at Joni Eareckson Tada. She wrote a book!

So your feeling kinda low and decide to treat yourself to a fancy din din. You go to your favorite little Italian restaurant , the one with a view of the Washington Monument ( you live in Washington DC, did I mention that?). You go here often. It’s your go-to. You always order the same thing: The chicken Alfredo with a side of grilled asparagus and a glass of red wine. You don’t care what kind, you can’t really taste the difference. You don’t even really like wine, but you’re an adult and you’re expected to drink wine.

But on this particular night, with you pondering your singleness, your job-stuckness, your expectedness, your sameness, you decide to mix it up a bit.

When the waiter approaches, you order chicken Alfredo but hold the chicken( a little joke there), a caprese salad with cheddar cheese instead of mozzarella, and a cup of milk.

You love milk.

So the waiter freezes for a moment. She stares at you like you were someone she just now recognized, like an undercover Johnny Depp. And if Johnny Depp stabbed her in the leg. She says, “Very well,” and disappears into the kitchen.

You wait a long time for you food. Your thinking you confused her with your Alfredo joke. She didn’t seem like the kind of girl who watches tons of stand up like you do. And, on a side note, she’s not as good looking as you either.

The waiter returns with your meal. It’s exactly like you ordered it, and, sure enough, no chicken. But that’s fine. You scarf your meal, gulp your drink, and try not to stare longingly at the other patrons imagining how much more happy and adventurous their lives are than yours.

That’s when you discover the note; a post-it rolled up like a tiny scroll mixed in with your Alfredo sans chicken.

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To Be Continued