I'll Have a Cheeseburger, But Hold the Cheese

I want to take a few moments today to talk about HMOs. No, I'll quickly assure you this has nothing to do with insurance plans. Although, come to think of it, I have plenty I'd like to say about insurance companies. Life insurance companies treat me as if I'm already dead. With a history of heart problems and diabetes, the best I could afford is a policy that, should I die, doesn't exactly give my wife a cash payout, but she does get free oil changes for two years.
But, as I said, I'm not here to talk about insurance, I'm here to talk about HMOs. Take my aforementioned wife for example. She's an HMO. I've found in most marriages, one party is an HMO and the other isn't. So what's an HMO? I thought you'd never ask.
It's the term I've coined for my wife. It simply means High Maintenance Orderer. I'm referring to her typical routine whenever we eat out. We eat out quite frequently, and I can honestly say that I've never heard her just tell the waitress what she wants. I'm not complaining mind you (wink wink). I think it's a beautiful trait. It endears me to her.
It's just that the act of placing an order for a meal can sometimes take longer than the wait for said meal, and the consumption of that meal, combined. First, my wife asks the waitress for her experience in eating the food on the menu. My wife doesn't just want to know what the lady likes on the menu. She wants a blow-by-blow description of the waitress' total sensory experience in eating that meal.
Once, she (my wife) narrows down the basic item she wants, she then begins to play the substitution game. "Can I exchange the french fries for the baked potato?" That's not too bad, but that's just the beginning. She may want to exchange the salad for a bowl of tapioca pudding, and the green beans for the crab dip. She's just into customization.
Once all the substitutions have been arranged, it's time to name the salad dressings. I love it when the waitress names fifteen different exotic dressings, and my wife scrunches up her face, as if to say, "Is that all?". And then my wife will say, "Just give me oil and vinegar."
Sometimes my wife will get the waitress to repeat the list of dressings. The first time through was just for an overview. After that, it's time to bask in the idea of the dressings. She may ask the waitress to repeat "that third dressing you mentioned." I fully expect she'll one day ask the lady to recite the dressings in Italian or maybe Pig Latin.
My wife, bless her lovely heart, doesn't stop being high maintenance after she's ordered. She likes things just so. She may ask for an extra cup of ice, no make that shaved ice. And, it would be lovely if the waitress could substitute the little plastic tubs of cream for a silver pitcher of half and half.
And, I'm not talking about just those fancy walk-in-and-sit-down restaurants. My wife is an HMO at the drive-thru as well. When we were dating, I tried to impress her by remembering to ask for any condiment I could possibly imagine she might want for the specific sandwich. I never got it right. I could have the server put extra mustard, mayonnaise, butter, salt, and pepper in the bag, and my wife would ask, "Did you get any tartar sauce?"
"No," I'd reply sheepishly, "I didn't know you put tartar sauce on a hamburger."
"I usually don't," she'd say, "but I was kind of in the mood for tartar sauce."
The next time I'd ask for tartar sauce, and she'd ask me to see if they had vinegar. What amazes me is that some of the restaurants really stock up for HMOs. I've reluctantly asked for strange sauces and the server just reaches down and drops it in my bag.
My wife almost always asks for unsalted french fries in the fast food places. Her reasoning being that they won't have any, so they'll have to put on a fresh batch just for her. For some reason, it galls some of the order takers when they hand her a bag of fresh-cooked, unsalted fries and then she asks for salt. It's actually kinda fun watching that. And, truth be told, her fries are always better than the dried out grease sticks they give me.
So, I guess there's a benefit to having an HMO in the family. And, I'm not criticizing her. I'm really just using this space to tell you all what a delight it is to go out to eat with her (wink wink).