Finally we’re alone.

The moment is simply magical. We’re five minutes into our first date, and I’m already smitten. Judging by your vibes, I can tell you feel the same way.

My wit shines through with a well placed joke. You laugh hysterically.

You took the bait, and I’ve nearly got my hooks in you. My follow up joke is met with increasing laughter. At this point I can tell that you are either very courteous, or you just love midget jokes. I’m willing to bet on the latter.

We sit down next to each other on the couch. My stomach growls a little bit because I ate something wicked for lunch. I blame it on the cat that I don’t have, and hope that you don’t realize that I’m catless. If you don’t ask to see the cat, I know I can probably use the same excuse later if I pass a little gas. I quickly turn on the TV to avoid any further contributions from my stomach choir.

A commercial is on TV. It’s for a monster truck show. I seize the opportunity and ask if you bought your tickets yet. You ask if I’m talking about the monster truck show. I say no, I’m talking about the gun show, and flex my biceps. You take a look and don’t seem impressed. I tell you to take a grip and I’ll give you a free ticket. It takes both of your hands to grasp the circumference. You say “this might just be the biggest gun show I’ve ever seen”. I believe you, although with caution, after remembering an ex-girlfriend who may or may not have been a card carrying member of the NRA. Rather than ask your political affiliation, I offer you a glass of wine, you accept.

No, the wine won’t be served out of a box tonight; you’re far too classy for that! I went the extra half mile for this date. I’m hoping you won’t notice, but I took the wine box and poured it through a funnel into an old bottle I had sitting around the house. Jack Daniels no longer, because I put a piece of paper over the label on the bottle and wrote “WINE” with my trusty sharpie. Yes, I’m going the extra step for you. This doesn’t stop at the wine. In fact it isn’t until dinner that I truly shine.

On tonight’s menu: fajitas. Not just any fajitas, baby, but my special fajitas. Only the finest ingredients for you, love. I gambled and figured you wanted chicken. You tell me that’s your favorite. I marvel in my luck, and wonder how I’d ever guess that a woman preferred chicken to steak. There are Irishmen with “rabbit’s-foot” prostethics and “4 leaf clover” hair transplants that aren’t as lucky as me.

Everything is going right tonight, complete with my choice of peppers. I bet your ex-boyfriend only cooked green peppers with his fajitas. Well those days are over sweetheart, because I pulled out all of the stops… and got a package of stoplight peppers for you. Sure, green peppers get the job done, but red and yellow peppers add style points. Yes, the beauty of the meal I am creating nearly rivals the beauty of the person I am sharing it with.

We sit at a candlelit table. The only candle I had was made by glade, and omits a wonderful yet somewhat overwhelming scent. We eat our dinner, and you rave about the quality of the food and wine. You say you’ve never been treated to fajitas of this caliber. I politely explain that although Applebee’s seems exotic, their Mexican is hardly authentic. You seem distraught at this revelation, so I quickly change the subject. I don’t even remember what we talked about next, because all I could think about was kissing you.

I blow out the scented candle and the room gets dark. I lean over the table and kiss you softly. You counter with a passionate kiss normally reserved for sex industry workers and cougars. Maybe you’re falling as hard as me. Maybe you just wanted another taste of the fajitas. Whatever the case, it doesn’t take me long to make my move.

I ask you if you’d like to continue this in another room.

“I’ve never done this before”

You’re obviously lying.

That’s ok, because that unpleasant scent in the air wasn’t really my cat.