A Lunch Date Gone Wrong [FICTOID]

Between the salad and the sorbet, Glenda realized she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.

Her blind date sat across from her, chewing on breadsticks like a cartoon beaver gnawing on a log.

“I got a condition,” he said.

“A condition?”

“A condition,” he repeated, shoving another breadstick in.  “I need a certain amount of carbohydrates a day -- that’s why I suggested Italian for lunch.”

The waiter, who appeared of Chinese extraction despite the restaurant’s Neapolitan theme, rushed up with another basket of breadsticks.  Glenda’s blind date appeared to be a regular customer.

“I gotta eat bread and pasta or else my body reacts weirdly.”

Glenda’s stomach was reacting weirdly on its own, and she could only assume it was due to the relentless bread gnawing before her.  “Can’t you do anything about it?” she asked.

He date shook his head, bread crumbs falling off.  “No can do.  If I’m not careful, my body starts producing methane gas, and if that gets near an open fire -- “  Here her date drew back his arms then flung them out as if pantomiming an eruption.

“Sweet Christmas,” Glenda muttered under her breath, then:  “I promise not to pry, but how can you afford to eat all the time?”

“I’ve got a good career,” her date said, signaling for another basket of breadsticks.  “Every full moon I go up in a balloon and take tidal measurements for the weather service.”

The waiter glided over as if on roller skates, setting a new basket of breadsticks down then rushing off with the empty.

“Wait,” said Glenda, looking puzzled.  “How can you go up in a balloon if you have to eat all the time?”

“That’s the trick,” her date said.  “I don’t eat, and use the methane gas my body generates to float the balloon.”

© Buzz Dixon