A while back, I picked up a lovely date at her parents’ home.
I’d scraped together some money to take her to a fancy restaurant.
She ordered the most expensive items on the menu. Oysters. Lobster. Champagne . The whole nine yards
I asked her, “Does your mother feed you like that when you eat at home?”
“No,” she replied, “but my mother’s not expecting a root tonight.”
I said, “Would you care for dessert?”