As most of you already know, I refer to my best friend as my ‘hubby’. And I have to say that I love him to pieces, as one should always love their friends. In this case, I adore my hubby because he’s the person I can call at midnight and ask that we can got to Denny’s because I think my apartment is too blue (long story, I promise to tell it sometime if you really want to hear about it).
So this story begins with me doing just this, calling him up to see if he was doing anything important. He wasn’t, and I had a deep hankering for breakfast food. Puerto Rico sucks and the only things open 24 hours on a Tuesday/Wednesday night is Walgreens and Denny’s. The answer was quite obvious as to where we went, I think.
The funny thing is that we often go there but tonight we were served by the actual manager. We could tell he was the manager because he wore the prettiest shirt out of all of them. And as we sat there, it was late and when I’m tired, I speak English and only English. In an establishment based on an American franchise, I will then order things purely in English with my full American accent. No way in hell am I going to butcher some things just so they can understand it in Spanglish! I often have this problem where they can’t understand my pronunciation (mainly because I pronouce things correctly) and Carlitos has to translate for me (ie by saying everything with a Spanish accent). But tonight, I took the lead and Carlitos followed (it isn’t uncommon for people to think I’m a tourist) and we ordered solely in English. I noticed that this sort of flustered the manager, especially when he had to explain that some of the items on our order were being substituted for other things. We were most gracious and accepted the changed kindly.
I had the meat lovers scramble and saved the stack of pancakes to take home and save for breakfast. I’d really just had a hankering for hashbrowns. Carlitos had french toast with a side of regular toast with his fried eggs. Of course, I always order hot chocolate because it has free refills (they like to pretend like they don’t but I know how to read the menu, unlike most Puerto Ricans. And that isn’t being insulting, just that these people are bass ackwards, I tell you!).
Now, here’s the thing. For dessert I wanted a banana split, but they didn’t have bananas. I could tell the manager was already feeling bad because of the substitutions he’d had to make to our original orders. So when I ordered a strawberry ice cream sundae with chocolate syrup, I don’t think he quite had the heart to tell me that they didn’t have strawberry ice cream. The thing was that I could see into the dessert area from where we were sitting and I say him using the blender. I thought he’d misheard my order and was making me a strawberry milkshake. I don’t think I would have had the heart to tell him that he’d gotten it wrong considering how often I’d have to demand hot chocolate already. But, when he showed up with my sundae, it was strawberry ice cream with chocolate syrup. It was as we were halfway through it that we realized he’d blended strawberry chunk syrup into vanilla ice cream for me! Carlitos said it was because the man was afraid of me, I think he just was macgyvering ice cream as he went.
I mean, seriously, who would be afraid of sweet lil ol’ me?
Oh, and it’s obvious that most people who see me with Carlitos and don’t know he’s gay assume we are the most lovey dovey couple in the world. We feed each other, eat off one another’s plates, hold hands and lean close to whisper to one another. So of course the manager, when bringing dessert, brought 2 spoons for us to share the sundae. It was as Carlitos was finishing the treat that he realized the major assumption made by the manager, that we’d be sharing the dessert even though I was the one who had ordered it because I had wanted it.