SNIPER 11

I want to go out to dinner with the Sniper.

I want to constantly readjust my tie or my collar, making sure I look presentable despite him telling me he doesn't give a damn how I look. I want to smile and jokingly tell him that at least one of us had to put effort into their appearance for tonight.

We would be sitting in the restaurant, bored, patiently waiting for our meal to come to our table. He'd order some sort of beef tenderloin thing (he would call it an eye fillet as, according to him, that's how they referred to them down under). I wouldn't remember what I ordered because I would be too focused on him. He'd snicker and tell me that this wasn't some sort of high school date, telling me to relax, that this food would probably taste like shit anyways.

Our orders would finally get to us. He would have been right (When is he wrong? he would gloat) - it would taste like shit. Our fault for not being able to decide on a place and just pulling in to the first restaurant nearby. He'd eat it anyway since he was particularly famished from work - he had another argument with a teammate, but didn't want to spoil the night by complaining about it - and I'd finish my meal just to have something to do.

We'd hop in his van and head home for the night, falling asleep nestled in each others' arms.