I have to admit -- dessert smells pretty wonderful. They've warmed it up and heaped some ice cream on the side, and I'm pleased to see it's New York Vanilla rather than any of the other half dozen varieties, which are clearly inferior. The ice cream is already starting to melt against the warmth of the food. And it looks perfect...and more than enough for two people. I probably look a bit like a kid at Disneyland as I look over the sugary goodness before us -- full of eager excitement and expectation.
The fact we're sitting side-by-side makes sharing a bit snug, but it's a nice kind of snug. We've been sitting pretty snugly for a while anyway. Steffy brought us extra napkins, spoons, and forks. I divvy them up and hold up a set for you to choose.
"Time for the big question. Do you eat ala mode with a fork, a spoon, or both?"
I enjoy watching you divvy up the napkins and utensils. It's double-cute when you let me choose. I take the set on your left, my right, duck my head in a thankful little nod.
When you ask "the big question", I smile wide and laugh a little, shaking my head. "Damn, Summer. I thought it would be something like politics or religion, but you go for the really hard stuff." Once I do think about it, I realize there are a few options here.
I purse my lips and finally say, "To me, it's a two utensil job. Fork for the flaky crust and pie, then transfer to the ice cream-laden spoon. Then spoon to mouth." I demonstrate, but pause before I take a bite. "What about you?"
Take those Attraction Dice! I'm into this whole dessert with you, big time!
I grin and laugh a little at your response -- you're such a good sport! "Pie is a very serious subject." I sweep my hair over the shoulder opposite you to keep it out of the way and watch you demonstrate your pie-eating technique.
I try to look very serious to back up my claim and pick up my fork. "Not bad," I say appreciatively. "It certainly solves the question of what to do about the melting ice cream. But I'm afraid I'm a one-utensil kind of girl. Pie. Then the ice cream." As you had done, I demonstrate by first spearing some pie then a thin skin of ice cream with the tines of my fork. It's much messier than your demonstration, and I don't have the luxury of politely waiting for you to catch up before bringing the food to my mouth. If I did that, the ice cream would slide right off! But I'm still fairly confident that this is the only way to eat ala mode, so I smirk as I slide the fork from my mouth.
I watch your process in hopes of giving it a shot myself. I have to admit, I'm a little caught watching your mouth. I really hope you pass it off as me looking at your teeth. I mean, it's not a sexual thing, not really. Just, you know, pretty girl, nice lips.
Anyways.
I give your method a shot, right after you, playing along. I nod as I munch on the flaky crust, take a drink to wash it down. As I'm dabbing at my mouth with a napkin, I say, "My method takes two-fisted coordination. Your style relies upon deadly accuracy and speed." I drop into a bit of a Shaw Brother's Kung-fu movie master voice, nothing too bad, "Both styles are strong. Neither is superior."
Okay, your style is pretty cute. Take a pair of bonus dice!
Your impression makes me laugh. I've seen that trope enough to know what you're attempting, and it's not half-bad for something designed to be bad. We aren't very far apart to start with, but I lean in closer and lower my voice. I hope I don't smell like iced tea -- my shampoos and soap and mist have a strawberries-and-cream theme (fresh, light, sweet), which I rather prefer. "I thought we were doing the pirate thing. I don't think pirates share their booty with ninjas, do they?" (And by that I mean the dessert, I swear.)
I lean in, just an inch closer, hold your eyes for a moment, and reply with a completely serious tone, "No one. Expects a ninja." Then I pull up a pie-ice cream spoonful and slowly move it towards your mouth. I know, it's probably a bad idea to literally feed you, but I do it anyways.
How are you so good at looking so serious?? A giggle escapes, in spite of my very best efforts, and I eye the incoming spoon. "Why, Zach, are you trying to convert me to eating my desserts with a spoon?" I do let you feed me, though. It's just a bite, and it's kind of cute and cozy.
After swallowing and ensuring no ice cream or crumbs escaped, I admit, "If I were seven, that spoon would have wound up on your nose -- pie, ice cream, and all."
Fishing for compatibility dice! (I think I'm doing this right.)
"You were a spoon thrower as a kid?" I ask as I grab myself a small bite. "Were you a little princess? You look like a Disney princess, maybe Rapunzel. Definitely not Sleeping Beauty."
"I was a trouble-maker," I correct cheerfully. "And if I had to pick a princess, it would have been Cinderella. Blonde hair and all. Plus, she has the prettiest dresses." I have to chuckle at the memory. "I just really didn't like to have to clean my room."
Comments
I have to admit -- dessert smells pretty wonderful. They've warmed it up and heaped some ice cream on the side, and I'm pleased to see it's New York Vanilla rather than any of the other half dozen varieties, which are clearly inferior. The ice cream is already starting to melt against the warmth of the food. And it looks perfect...and more than enough for two people. I probably look a bit like a kid at Disneyland as I look over the sugary goodness before us -- full of eager excitement and expectation.
The fact we're sitting side-by-side makes sharing a bit snug, but it's a nice kind of snug. We've been sitting pretty snugly for a while anyway. Steffy brought us extra napkins, spoons, and forks. I divvy them up and hold up a set for you to choose.
"Time for the big question. Do you eat ala mode with a fork, a spoon, or both?"
I enjoy watching you divvy up the napkins and utensils. It's double-cute when you let me choose. I take the set on your left, my right, duck my head in a thankful little nod.
When you ask "the big question", I smile wide and laugh a little, shaking my head. "Damn, Summer. I thought it would be something like politics or religion, but you go for the really hard stuff." Once I do think about it, I realize there are a few options here.
I purse my lips and finally say, "To me, it's a two utensil job. Fork for the flaky crust and pie, then transfer to the ice cream-laden spoon. Then spoon to mouth." I demonstrate, but pause before I take a bite. "What about you?"
Take those Attraction Dice! I'm into this whole dessert with you, big time!
I grin and laugh a little at your response -- you're such a good sport! "Pie is a very serious subject." I sweep my hair over the shoulder opposite you to keep it out of the way and watch you demonstrate your pie-eating technique.
I try to look very serious to back up my claim and pick up my fork. "Not bad," I say appreciatively. "It certainly solves the question of what to do about the melting ice cream. But I'm afraid I'm a one-utensil kind of girl. Pie. Then the ice cream." As you had done, I demonstrate by first spearing some pie then a thin skin of ice cream with the tines of my fork. It's much messier than your demonstration, and I don't have the luxury of politely waiting for you to catch up before bringing the food to my mouth. If I did that, the ice cream would slide right off! But I'm still fairly confident that this is the only way to eat ala mode, so I smirk as I slide the fork from my mouth.
I watch your process in hopes of giving it a shot myself. I have to admit, I'm a little caught watching your mouth. I really hope you pass it off as me looking at your teeth. I mean, it's not a sexual thing, not really. Just, you know, pretty girl, nice lips.
Anyways.
I give your method a shot, right after you, playing along. I nod as I munch on the flaky crust, take a drink to wash it down. As I'm dabbing at my mouth with a napkin, I say, "My method takes two-fisted coordination. Your style relies upon deadly accuracy and speed." I drop into a bit of a Shaw Brother's Kung-fu movie master voice, nothing too bad, "Both styles are strong. Neither is superior."
Okay, your style is pretty cute. Take a pair of bonus dice!
Two successes in the net!
Your impression makes me laugh. I've seen that trope enough to know what you're attempting, and it's not half-bad for something designed to be bad. We aren't very far apart to start with, but I lean in closer and lower my voice. I hope I don't smell like iced tea -- my shampoos and soap and mist have a strawberries-and-cream theme (fresh, light, sweet), which I rather prefer. "I thought we were doing the pirate thing. I don't think pirates share their booty with ninjas, do they?" (And by that I mean the dessert, I swear.)
I lean in, just an inch closer, hold your eyes for a moment, and reply with a completely serious tone, "No one. Expects a ninja." Then I pull up a pie-ice cream spoonful and slowly move it towards your mouth. I know, it's probably a bad idea to literally feed you, but I do it anyways.
Take that last Bonus die. Good luck!
How are you so good at looking so serious?? A giggle escapes, in spite of my very best efforts, and I eye the incoming spoon. "Why, Zach, are you trying to convert me to eating my desserts with a spoon?" I do let you feed me, though. It's just a bite, and it's kind of cute and cozy.
After swallowing and ensuring no ice cream or crumbs escaped, I admit, "If I were seven, that spoon would have wound up on your nose -- pie, ice cream, and all."
Fishing for compatibility dice! (I think I'm doing this right.)
"You were a spoon thrower as a kid?" I ask as I grab myself a small bite. "Were you a little princess? You look like a Disney princess, maybe Rapunzel. Definitely not Sleeping Beauty."
Roll it!
"I was a trouble-maker," I correct cheerfully. "And if I had to pick a princess, it would have been Cinderella. Blonde hair and all. Plus, she has the prettiest dresses." I have to chuckle at the memory. "I just really didn't like to have to clean my room."
Okay, it's your turn! Go be wonderful!