Monday, 5 July 2010


Here an example, in this case for women, that I saw at Howtogetagrip.

You go to a restaurant with your date and there are lots of pages on the menu. It all looks good. The sexy guy in front of you has already chosen steak and fries. You don’t know whether to go for the fritto misto, or the lapin √† la kriek, the quails’ eggs benedict or the truffle omelette. The parmesan souffl√© looks divine and you’ve heard great things about the sea-bass casserole. You take a few minutes. You take a few minutes more to contemplate the enchiladas.

You take for-fucking-EVER and the hot guy from the marketing department has you down as a neurotic ingrate who’s depriving him of his meat.
In the end you go home alone.


The hot guy says “I’ll have steak and fries”. You say “me too.”

You don’t go home for four days, and when you do, you’re saddle-sore.
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