Lockjaw.

The waiter had barely finished
correcting the list of specials
telling the two patrons what the restaurant
was out of for the evening
when the slob opened his mouth
asking "Are ya out of gin, too?"

Receiving an uncomfortable
wink and chuckle in response
he placed an order equally obnoxious:
"Gimme the cheapest gin ya got
with a little tonic in it, easy on the ice."
She was too embarrassed to order
anything more than a water after that one.

The drinks came out right before the appetizer
should've, had he not been so cheap.
He practically smacked her hand away
when she went for a second slice of bread
telling her not to spoil her appetite
and the salad arrived with the oil and vinegar
that he'd reminded her to choose to keep fit.

During the entree he bored her with stories
from his job that made him out to be almost
as indispensable as she thought the post-coitus cigarette
would be later on in order to give her some sort
of pleasure at the end of the evening, even though
she rarely smoked and felt like puking when she did.

His elbows never left the table and the food seemed to
cling to his teeth intentionally as he washed his meal down
with his cocktails.
"How's yours cooked, Baby? Mine's overdone as usual
so there's no sense sending it back.
Besides, they'd probably spit on it."
She'd be doing the same later, in a sense, for different reasons.

Dessert was out of the question, obviously, and he went so far
as to ask to keep her leftovers when the doggie-bag came out
saying it'd make an excellent lunch at work the next day.
When the check came out he nearly choked
on the last of his drink, going over the itemized bill three times
before accepting the grand total as an infallible truth.
"Well I hope ya enjoyed it, this cost a day's pay,"
he snarled, going on to suggest a way to show her appreciation.

On the way home she did just that, but her head hit
his hand away from the steering wheel for just long enough
to send them careening into oncoming traffic.

She'd never been so grateful.
It was his turn to feel it, his turn to scream
and not just on the inside like she always had.

Miracurously, everyone survived the impact--
everyone but his dignity when the ambulance arrived.
"You're lucky I have health insurance, you whore!"
he yelled, but she was too busy laughing
as the EMTs checked her for injuries to pay any mind.

To this day, if you get him drunk enough and ask him
he'll drop trow and show you the scars from her teeth.

And as for her, she's a pleasant part-time crossing guard
and mother of two teenagers somewhere.