Though apparently my relationship with Zach lacks many characteristics typical of homosexual relationships, we have proven adept at reading each other's minds.
Unfortunately, this clairvoyance operates within a rather narrow set of circumstances: after unsatisfying meals in restaurants.
Invariably, we'll have a ho-hum meal at a restaurant-we-always-go-to-out-of-habit. It's a glorious trainwreck: we're both very much creatures of habit. After long days at our respective jobs (actually, the very notion that I have a "job" is utterly preposterous), we'll slump over the futon and, harnessing proto-hominid communication skills (mostly grunts, gestures, and visual cues), we'll determine that neither of us wants to cook, and eating the cat is just out of the question. So, we'll drift out of the apartment and either walk or drive to some habit-forming establishment. It doesn't really matter where - there's a small collection of restaurants that have, almost randomly, become regular destinations.
At least until the horrific meal experience... which invariably strikes. I consider it only a matter of time, actually: so-so establishments, which hold us only by habit... eventually, a tiny slip up on their part, and Zach and I find ourselves walking home, dissatisfied. And then the telepathy strikes.
"I didn't like that."
"Me neither"
"Let's not eat there for awhile."
"Or ever again."
"Yeah."
"Do you know where we should go next time we get this urge?"
"Oh, [insert name of restaurant we always forget about]?"
"Whoa. Exactly! How did you know I was thinking that?"
"No idea."
It's been happening more and more lately, but never outside of the context of restaurants. I would usually stop at that point and ponder how and why our deep, personal connections only revolve around food consumption, but by then we're usually re-hashing the latest episode of Battlestar Galactica.
Posted by James at October 21, 2006 11:06 PM