The Last Supper?

Snapshot Thought: You know you are living in one of the richest cities in the world when the dogs are dressed better than you.

Alright so here’s the deal-yo. I am working on this blog post right now but is bordering on absolute genius so I am going to wait to post it. In the meantime however, I thought I would give you a quick update on the Knight situation.

On Monday night I extended him an invitation to come over for dinner Thursday (also known as tonight) and then promptly started freaking out about what I was going to make. Calling for an emergency sesh with my West Coast crew right afterwards, we met for drinks at Abigail’s (the new Billabong) and brainstormed meal ideas for the third date.

At first I proposed making a penne cacciatore. I just could not shake this romantic picture of myself slaving over a hot stove all day making tomato sauce and rocking out to Beyonce. The recipe I had in mind involved one finely-chopped green bell pepper, two head whips, a pinch of oregano and three pelvic thrusts. Later I imagined the two of us sitting a red-checker clothed table eating pasta like Lady and the Tramp (I will let you decide who played who). However, my “That’s amore” idea was immediately kaiboshed for the following reasons:

  1. Straight-up, pasta is too risky to eat on a date. I could not argue this because I always take my shirt off before I eat anything in a red sauce.
  2. In the advent of a hot make-out/heavy petting session after, the last thing I would want is to feel too full or fat.
  3. I should find more creative ways to draw attention to my mouth.

The next meal put forth by the table was a gourmet dish including cumin-scented beef kabobs and a persian cucumber and purple rice salad. This idea was vetoed however when a wise friend pointed out the dinner was for a third date and not a marriage proposal.

Finally after one bottle of red wine, two gin and tonics and some banana-flavoured shooter, I decided on a Chicken Roast: simple, elegant and smoking hot. So last night I prepared myself by conducting two Google searches for the entree, one for “how to roast a chicken” followed by “how to pre-heat an oven.” Exhausted by all my hard work, I rewarded myself with a half-carafe of Argentinean Malbec and then settled in for the night with an episode of Dawson’s Creek. Ten minutes later the phone rang and it was him.

KNIGHT: Hey I’m so sorry but I just got called in to work for tomorrow night. Is there anyway we can re-schedule dinner?

        FOX: (turning his sip into a gulp) Sure, yeah yeah of course, no problem.