Mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, French fries, rice.
Mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, French fries, rice.
Mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, French fries, rice.

Whaddya want?
What’ll you have?
What’ll it be?

Those are the questions the waitress asks me.
No argument, no philosophical debate.
She just wants to know what I want on my plate.

If only life could always be so matter-o-fact.
Instead of everything being so out of whack.

Mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, French fries, rice.
Mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, French fries, rice.
Mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, French fries, rice.

She chants the mantra of the side dish.
Her desire is to fulfill my epicurean wish.

Soup or salad? Coffee or tea?
More questions she asks of me.
My heart knows the answers.
My mind knows what I like.

If only all decisions were so easily made.
If only everyone’s desires could be so easily conveyed.
But alas the world is not a diner.
And I don’t want to come across as a whiner.

Things are not always as they seem.
Sometimes the main course comes smothered in cream.
Sometimes the mashed potatoes are mixed with chives.
But these things barely affect our lives.

Chicken Noodle, Cream of Celery, or Matzo Ball.
These choices won’t make a nation fall.
Ranch, Creamy Italian, Russian or Blue Cheese.
There are no hidden agendas amongst these.

It can be all so easy, if you’ll let it.
Life doesn’t have to be affected by every nitwit.
Just place your order, and it’ll all be fine.
A simple moment of peace in which to dine.