She sat across from me. Her eyes scanned the menu, recognizing familiar characters while not finding an acceptable recognizable pattern. Mumbled murmurings emerged from her lips. Her head slowly shook from side to side. A few strands of hair fell over her eyes. After a breath's moment, she reached up thoughtlessly with a solitary hand and brushed the wayward strands back out of her sight lines. She looked up and met my eyes. Words were spoken. I shook my head quickly. She shrugged while a sigh escaped her lips and her head tilted down. Her eyes went back to studiously scanning the menu before her.

I pulled my gaze from her form and glanced at the jumble of words and occasional prices before me. Nothing made sense. I couldn't concentrate on the roughly typed print before me with her so near. I kept my head down and raised my eyes surreptitiously in her general direction. She was gently biting her lip, hand gently resting against the side of her head.

The waiter came by the table and asked if we were ready. Everyone looked at me. I smiled and nodded like an idiot. I looked at her. She asked the waiter a question or two, and then ordered something. Everyone looked at me, again. I glanced down at my menu in a mild panic, but it was not going to save me. I gave up in mild defeat and asked for the same thing she was having. The waiter took our menus and ran away.

I realized I was still grinning like an idiot and tried to stop. She asked why I was smiling. I had no answer. She laughed. I felt my cheeks burning. I wanted to talk about something, or really anything to take my mind off my own embarrassment. She asked if I was normally this shy. I wanted to scream no while running around the restaurant with my shirt pulled over my head like a soccer player who just scored a goal, but that didn't seem like a good idea so I denied her accusation in an awkward manner.

She tried to look down at her menu, but it no longer was before her eyes. I sat before her wishing I was anywhere else. I thought, this is the worst possible situation anyone in the history of the world has ever been in.

She looked up from her imaginary menu and asked why I was laughing. It was hard to explain, so I just said I thought of something funny. She then wanted me to explain, so that she could see the humor. I then felt an irresistible desire to go on a diatribe: explaining a joke makes it not funny for all parties involved. Somehow, I resisted this urge and, perhaps as a direct result, she remained sitting before me. Sometimes you need to bite your tongue in order to save your eyes.