”I have my dessert first.”

”Is that a political statement? A medical condition, perhaps?”

”I just don’t see the point in waiting. I mean, what if I die while eating my vindaloo?”

”Is that probable?”

”It’s possible. Embolism burst? Asteroid hits the restaurant? I’d die without having the one thing I wanted the most.”

”But the odds are…”

”Tell you what. Guarantee me. Swear to me on your eternal soul that I’ll make it through my entree, and I’ll wait. But before you answer…If I die, you’re gonna have to live the rest of your life knowing not only that you lied to me, but you denied me of my one last indulgence. My last wish. Are you prepared to shoulder that kind of responsibility to prove a point?”