Conversation around the big, round table in Sarah’s Diner rumbled to a stop as the currently sitting members of the Circular Congregation Breakfast Club discontinued wordplay and replaced it with the sound of five Shop-Vacs inhaling biscuits and gravy, eggs every-which-way, short stacks of butter and syrup slathered pancakes, crispy bacon, savory sausage, and golden mounds of hashbrowns (but, no fruit, yogurt, or anything remotely resembling healthy eating).

It was a common occurrence — Sarah would take their orders and bring them coffee, followed immediately by a fervent debate over the woes of the world and who should be blamed for it all. However, once the food arrived, all conversation ceased and the thundering roar of a caloric tsunami ensued.

Almost as quickly as it began, the food storm abated. Chairs were pushed back from the table, bellies were relieved by the exact measurement of one belt buckle hole, and the conversation resumed — albeit in a more subdued way.

A full stomach has charms to soothe the savage beast; post-consumption conversations tended to swirl around more mundane topics, such as who did what stupid thing, why traffic round-abouts should be globally banned, and which Sean Connery was better (the debonair James Bond with a full head of hair or the bad-ass-bald Jimmy Malone in the Untouchables).

However, this morning’s conversation resumed in a much different direction. Tommy Jones, the widower octogenarian and elder member of the congregation, put down his coffee cup and tossed out a talk-nugget of unusual proportions.

“I’m thinking about getting back into the dating game,” he said, with the nonchalance of a nuclear explosion.

Harry snorted coffee through his nose, Big John Hudson spit his still wrapped toothpick half-way across the table, Jimmy fell over backwards in his chair, and Arnold Tobin summed up everyone’s thoughts as he gasped, “Huh?”

Tommy repeated his bombshell statement and followed it up with, “It’s been 10 years since Helen passed and I think it might be time for me to consider my options.” His voice weakened and trailed off as he spoke about his beloved Helen, then regained its strength as he discussed the potential of his future. “I think I met someone.”

Jimmy had almost made it back to his feet, but Tommy’s newest comment knocked them back out from underneath him. “Wha…?” he called out on his way back down. Everyone else wanted to know the same thing.

“I met her by the tomatoes,” Tommy answered to their unasked questions. “I was in the grocery store, shopping for Hot Pockets and prune juice.”

Big John spit his second toothpick half-way across the table, in the general direction of Arnold. “Tomatoes?” was all John could ask. Again, the thoughts of everyone around the table were summed up in one word. No one cared to know about Tommy shopping for Hot Pockets – and they certainly didn’t want to know why he was shopping for prune juice.

“She’s a nice lady,” continued Tommy. “But, she might be a little young for me,” he mused. “She’s only 77.”

Another toothpick flew towards Arnold, who was oblivious to the lumber piling up near his elbow.

“She’s waxed, polished, and sprinkled in sugar water,” Tommy gushed. “But, I don’t know if I should ask her out. I don’t have any of those blue pills. Any of you guys holding?”

Jimmy fell down again, another toothpick sailed through the air, and each of them looked at each other as if to say, “Huh?”, “Wha…?”, “Tomatoes?”, and “Holding?”