Death by a huge cheeseburger

I recently celebrated my 20th birthday and, like all my other birthdays, this required a meal out with the whole family.

This year it was at the downtown hotspot Port Cape. At a place like that on a Saturday night, how could you not expect to have a fun and uplifting time? I just knew my family would reminisce and laugh the night away with good jokes and cheerful stories.

"So did you hear who died the other day?" my aunt said to my mom.

"No."

"It was so-and-so," she sadly replied.

"Oh that's terrible! I hope his son is taking it all right."

"He has cancer."

"My God! How's his wife?"

"Linda, she's been dead for five years."

"Well, who's taking care of their dog?"

"It was killed in a drive-by shooting."

As I sat there and listened to their discussion over death evolve into many different forms -- dying celebrities, deadly diseases expected to enter the U.S., plants they owned in the past that died, people who have died but will come back to life and die an even more gruesome death -- I was beginning to feel as though my life was going to come to a quick and sudden end, perhaps even choking to death on the very bread I was chewing.

Luckily the food came and everyone grew into a better mood -- everyone except my grandma, who stared at her burger as if she had just been served a live porcupine.

"Oh. My. God."

"What's wrong, Cora?"

"This, this burger ... it's -- it's HUGE!" she managed to say as she frantically waved our server over. "Waitress, this burger is HUGE! There's no possible way I could eat all of this. It's simply out of the question."

We all stared at our waitress to see what kind of reaction she could possibly have after being victimized for bringing out a large, juicy hamburger. I had never heard someone actually complain about being brought too much food.

Everything soon went back to normal considering there was nothing that could be done. Our waitress, realizing she may lose a tip for bringing out a lot of good food, began refilling our glasses at every available moment. With all this fluid, I was waiting for my aunt to bring up a story about someone who drowned.

After everyone was done eating, I knew what was coming next.

"Today's his birthday!" my mom shouted to the waitress, who then asked if I would like the staff to sing "Happy Birthday" to me. I politely refused by waving my gun in the air and firing a warning shot.

"I'll pay for my burger," my grandma said, putting her almost untouched food inside a container.

"No, Cora, we'll take care of it."

"Let me leave the tip then," she insisted.

So to avoid her spontaneously exploding in a frenzy of fury, we allowed her to throw a few bucks down on the table.

Although a death like that would really be a conversation starter for my next birthday.

Contact Sam at sdereign@ semissourian.com.