|
} A dimly lighted Italian resturaunt sits on a quiet street. A couple is
} seated at a table near the window. The man glances up at his date, a
} striking brunette of almost ethereal beauty, clad in a resplendant
} crimson gown. She seems to almost glitter. He lifts a glass of white
} wine to his lips.
}
} "I'm glad you could make it tonight. We have quite a bit to talk
} about," he says cautiously.
}
} The waiter glides by with a pitcher of water for the elderly couple in
} the corner.
}
} "You know, Debbie, I- .. uh, ... I've been thinking a lot about our
} relationship." He stammers, his glass shaking in his hand. He licks his
} lips, trying to find the words. "I don't think we should see each other
} anymore. There, I said it."
}
} The girl sits quietly in her simmering aura.
}
} The man waits expectantly, his glass still hovering just in front of
} his lips.
}
} "Well," he says finally, "Aren't you going to say anything?"
}
} Debbie shifts elegantly in her chair, and says, "It is better to travel
} hopefully than to fly Continental."
}
} There is a pause, as he thinks about what she just said.
}
} "What?" he finally manages.
}
} "Disks travel in packs," she replies, a sly smile playing across her
} impeccable face.
}
} "Disks? What disks? I'm talking about our relationship," he blurts out,
} setting down his wine angrily. "I'm trying to tell you as gently as
} possible that I cannot see you anymore because I'm seeing someone
} else."
}
} "You will engage in a profitable business activity," she says.
}
} As she reaches for her fork, he takes her hand. "Please don't make this
} any harder than it has to be."
}
} He sits back in his chair..
}
} "I thought I was in love with you," he starts. "I--"
}
} But she cuts him off to say, "Your stamina is no match for your
} marigolds."
}
} "My marigolds? What are you talking about?"
}
} "Bees don't get arthritis."
}
} "Yes, arthritis. Fine." He motions to the waiter.
}
} "Yes, sir?" asks the waiter, when he approaches.
}
} "I'd like another glass of wine. Would you like one too, Debbie?"
}
} "186 thousand miles per second: it's not just a good idea, it's the
} law."
}
} "Yes, she will have one too."
}
} "Very well," says the waiter, seemingly unperturbed.
}
} "Now, Debbie," the man starts, "Usually when I ask you something, you
} come up with something very insightful to say. But tonight, you're not
} making any sense."
}
} "Weasels don't get sucked into jet engines," she explains.
}
} "Indeed they do not. But we were talking about our relationship. I just
} can't go on like this. My girlfriend is bound to find out. What do you
} have to say to that?"
}
} "The curtains don't match the couch," she says, the smile leaving her
} lips.
}
} "Well, then, I guess this is goodbye. Thanks, it was good while it
} lasted."
}
} Debbie looks down at her lap, a tear forming in her eye. "Fortune not
} found," she manages.
}
} You owe the Oracle three bottles of Pinot Grigio wine.
|
![[IO]](https://kinzler.com/picons/db/domains/org/internetoracle/unknown/face.gif){kind=small}
