In our college days, my hubby, my friends, and I all loved to eat at a little 50's Diner-themed restaurant called Johnny Rockets. Johnny Rockets has dancing waiters, killer chocolate malts, ketchup served in a smiley-face formation, and tiny jukeboxes on every table where a nickel buys you the chance to hear Wipeout or Blue Suede Shoes. Pretty entertaining, right? Apparently, not entertaining enough for my hubby and two of his friends. On one memorable visit, they decided to shake things up a bit. They wrote down a bunch of mental/physical conditions, tossed them in a hat, and whichever one they drew, they had to be that evening. (Yes, yes, not very political correct, I know.) My hubby had a debilitating stutter. Gavin had Touretts Syndrome. Damon had a severe case of paranoia. The ordering process sounded something like this: WAITRESS : Hi there, welcome to Johnny Rockets! HUBBY : Thhhhhhhhhaa - thhhhhhhhhhhaaa DAMON : What do you mean welcome? Who's been waiting f