cobb salad

She ate her cobb salad, dressing on the side. The eggs were perfectly sliced, but seemed less perfect because it was obvious that one of those mushroom/egg slicers was responsible and there was something less human about those perfectly symmetrical slices. Of course, a human invented, implemented, and operated the technology, but it just wasn’t the same.

I watched her fork cut one of the slices in half, then spear it into her next bite of greens, cucumber, and crumbled bacon.

I looked down at my plate. Ketchup scattered haphazardly over my french fries, my cheeseburger half eaten, shredded lettuce spilling out of it. I had always been less composed than Kate.

I wanted to pick up her cobb salad and fling it across the room. Reach across the table her, pull her to me, and kiss her. I didn’t.