There are days when you go to order a sandwich from a fast-food joint, and instead stumble your way through seven different kinds of mumbling while trying to make yourself focus on something besides the very pretty girl behind the register who is very kindly trying to understand what you're saying and who you know you would probably get along with fantastically if you could actually make yourself talk to her, but you also know she's probably older than you by enough years to make it slightly awkward if you were to ever talk to her outside of a buying-food-from-her situation, and then the next thing you know you're sitting at a table waiting for your sandwich to come.
And then when it does, it's the wrong sandwich.
But you don't mind. Because a really pretty, nameless girl handed it to you. And life is good.