3:40 Saturday Afternoon I was trying to zone out at the table listening to fake conversations and vaguely onlooking the fake smiles and forced laughter at forced jokes, wincing at pointed remarks. "How are you liking America so far?" Internet asked at one point. "It's..." Overseas glanced at me and then looked Internet back in the eye and replied, "It's not excactly what I expected." This sort of thing carried on for a while and I felt my stomach churning the few bites I had eaten and I pushed my chair away from the table and picked up my purse. I handed enough cash to cover my dinner, the tip, and the tax to Internet and called the waiter to get me a box. I stood up and said, "I'm sorry, fellas, but I am feeling kind of sick. They must have put chicken in my food or something. I hope you two have a nice evening, I'll see you back at the hotel but I really honestly don't feel good. See you soon! Be safe." Internet kissed my hand and said, "Well alright, my dear ex-pirate. Be safe on your return." Before I could pick up my jacket, Overseas had stood up and taken it. He helped me into it and kissed my cheek and said, "I hope you feel better soon, darling." I hoped my frustration wasn't showing on my face, or that it was coming across as a sickly sort of expression. I walked around the area a little while trying to calm my stomach down before I went back to the hotel room. I failed to soothe it, I suppose, because when I returned to the hotel, I beelined to the bathroom and puked into the toilet. A rush of memories from senior year and college years came flooding back to me. I never did take stress too well. Many a night before an important exam I was huddled by the toilet with my notes. Trying to study and eating saltines hoping that I wouldn't fail these and have to resort to living in a stolen grocery cart. I felt lots better after throwing up, though, and I got on my laptop and opened a blank notepad file and started listing the good and attributes of each Overseas and Internet, hoping to open up some decision making machine in my brain to get this whole thing over with. In the middle of my "good" lists, I heard the door open and I saved and closed the file, and pretended to be checking my e-mail. Internet walked in and slurped from an almost-empty coffee to-go cup angrily. I hesitated to ask but curiosity won out. In my sweetest-without-being-too-sweet voice I asked him how the rest of dinner went. "The nerve of that guy!" Internet started...