A lesser peril of social interaction, and it happens at restaurant tables.

“Do we all know what we want?” Arashi asked us. A general murmur of assent swept across the table. Dina, at the head of the table, flagged down our waitress.

“Hi, are you guys ready to order?” she asked. We nodded in chorus, and she turned to Dina. “What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have the spinach risotto, please?” Dina said.

The waitress smiled. “Spinach risotto, good choice.”

“And if at all possible, could I have it without the mushrooms?”

“Yes, we can do that. One spinach risotto, without mushrooms.” The waitress turned to Arashi. “How about you, sir?”

“I’ll also have the spinach risotto, and no mushrooms.”

“Another spinach risotto, no mushrooms.” She cast her gaze upon Bushrang next.

Bushrang paused for a second, perhaps in thought. “I, too,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “would love to try the spinach risotto.”

Another pause, a stalemate between Bushrang and the waitress. As she opened her mouth to speak, Bushrang continued, “And, um, if you could also hold off on the mushrooms for me, that would be quite lovely.”

The waitress nodded. “Three spinach risottos, all without mushrooms.”

We all looked at each other, trying to read each other’s poker faces.

Madeline’s turn now. She gathered her thoughts and recited, “I guess I’ll have to join my friends here in ordering a spinach risotto.”

“Without mushrooms, I presume?”

“Yes, without mushrooms.” She smiled weakly. “I have mushroom allergies.”

“Four spinach risottos, no mushrooms,” the waitress intoned. Madeline nodded. Then she added, “Thank you so much.”

The waitress turned to the Rooster. “As will I,” he delivered with a hearty chuckle.

Eyebrows of astonishment raised around the table. Why didn’t I think of that?

“Five spinach risottos, no mushrooms.” The waitress turned to Ovul, who let three seconds of dramatic silence pass.

Then Ovul said, “Maple-garlic pork tenderloin, please.”

All of us stifled a laugh, except for Bushrang, who failed to. Beneath her professional composure, the waitress was clearly impressed. “And how would you like it cooked?”

“Medium rare.”

“Got it. Five spinach risottos, no mushrooms, and a medium-rare pork tenderloin,” she rattled off. “And for you, miss?”

Reader, you must understand that from the beginning of this scene, I had my heart set on a nice warm spinach risotto. On the drive to Tony’s Mediterranean I had looked the menu up on my phone, and one photo had set my stomach a-craving. Laurels of spinach resting upon a creamy throne of arborio rice, adorned with onions and flecked with saffron. I’m not a fan of mushrooms, though, and I had resolved to request the dish without them. By the time we walked through the swinging doors, glass with oak slab handles, I had rehearsed my order in my head several times.

Now my thunder was stolen. With each order from each subsequent friend I had recast the vocabulary, juggled the syntax of my planned oratory. Also? Taken. Too? Taken. As well? Debatable. The Rooster had said, “As will I.” Have or try or order? All taken. What now? Desperate, I groped around for a novel turn of phrase, flipped through the pages of my mental thesaurus during Ovul’s order, but now my time was up. I had a waitress beaming down at me and a weight of absurd expectation on my shoulders.

I sighed, buying myself a second or two. “I, unimaginatively,” I chuckled in my best impression of amiable, “fall squarely in the spinach-risotto-sans-mushroom camp.”

The waitress furrowed her brows. “I’m sorry, what?” Smirks from around the table.

“I’ll, um, be having the spinach risotto, but not having the mushrooms with it,” I stammered in recovery. “The same as all of them.”

“Great. Six spinach risottos, all without mushrooms, plus a medium-rare pork tenderloin. And can I get any drinks for the table?”

We all looked at each other. Fuck, we collectively thought.