You Say Tomato, I Say Epinephrine

(I am on a lunch date with my boyfriend, talking to a waitress.)

Me: “I’d like no tomatoes on my sandwich please; I am allergic.”

(This is a lie; it’s just to ensure they don’t end up on my sandwich.)

Waitress: “Is your allergy mild, major, or severe?”

Me: “Major.”

Waitress: “Okay, and you wanted the fries with that? Would you like ketchup or cajun mayo for dipping?”

Me: “Ketchup.”

Waitress: “Of course. Our manager may stop by your table to discuss your allergy with you.”

(The waitress leaves.)

Me: *to my boyfriend* “Why would the manager talk to me?”

Boyfriend: “You said you were allergic to tomatoes. But you ordered ketchup with your fries.”

Me: “…Oh. S***!”

(I walk up to the waitress, who has just finished talking on the phone.)

Me: “Was that the manager you were just talking to?”

Waitress: “Yes.”

Me: “I’m really sorry; I’m not actually allergic to them. I just wanted to make sure they absolutely didn’t end up there; I despise raw tomato. But then I went and ordered ketchup with my fries, which was really stupid.”

Waitress: *laughs* “I’ve seen stupider. Don’t worry about it; there won’t be any tomato on your sandwich.”