It seems Mr. Antichrist Superstar is brushing off on me...

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the reason why my family and I never go out to eat.

So there's this great new deal at Marie Calenders; it's like, if you order a cheeseburger you get a piece of pie for some sort of ridiculously low price. Exciting, right?

RIGHT. So, throughout dinner, other than examining the various creepy couples snuggling up to each other in the surrounding booths, I'm pondering which pie I'm going to order; rhubarb. Chocolate Satin. Rhubarb......Chocolate Satin. Kind of a back and forth thing, you know?

I don't like crust, so I decide on Chocolate Satin. The most important decision of my life, I'm sure.

And here comes the waitress, who looks to be a few months pregnant, to collect our empty plates and ask about our pie preference, pen poised above her pad of paper.

"What kind of pie would you like?" she asks, shifting her gaze in my direction. Why do I always have to go first?

"Oh, I'll have the Chocolate Satan," I reply.

Satan.
As in the biblical character. Not satin, like the fabric.

Umm. Oops.

Oh yeah, and can you arrange the whip cream in the shape of a pentagram? Thanks!

At some point, between awkward chortles and her pseudo-sympathetic "Oh, don't worry, you're not the first to do that," the waitress nonchalantly turns away a few centimeters, no doubt trying to shield her unborn child from me.

Yeah, Chocolate Satan Pie. Delicious.
Good lord. Because reading a menu is so challenging.

If this isn't the story of my life, I don't know what is.