Homer always orders the same thing. He always gets meatloaf, collard greens, and if they have it, sweet potato souffle, although usually Deena's out by the time we get there. It takes so gosh darn long to get him over there. Men with bad limps tend to dislike going out anywhere, but Homer and I go to Deena's Diner every Tuesday for dinner. I typically order the chicken. It's simple and healthy the way Deena makes it. Bianca is in the next booth over. We see her around here often. Danielle is always our waitress. Young girl, probably not twenty, but she's got a good heart and a smart head on those shoulders. I've never seen her get fussy with a customer which is more than I can say for most of the staff.
She serves us in the same way every Tuesday. We come in, and Danielle immediately brings us two iced teas, mine sweet, Homer's un-sweet. Then she puts our order in, and it takes about fifteen minutes before we're eating. I eat fairly quickly, but Homer takes an eternity. I suppose it's because the poor man doesn't get out often. That awful limp keeps him at home, in our apartment, watching "The Price is Right" for a good portion of the day.
After we eat, Danielle offers us dessert, and every time we decline. She'll usually persist that the apple pie is "the best in America, ma'am." That sweet girl always calls me ma'am or Mrs. Henderson. Well, she always says that, and every time it gets me. I just love apple pie. So Homer and I split a piece, and about half the time she puts it on the house for "being so pushy." Then we get up, cross the parking lot, and go back to Watershed Heights until the next Tuesday when we'll repeat the same routine.