totes
22-08-2006, 11:48 AM
After a particularly vapid and wearsome day, I'd decided to treat myself to a nice meal out. Now, we all have those Holiday Inns in our locale; I'd heard good things about it. It seemed the perfect place to squander my beloved savings on.
I got myself a taxi to the restaurant, as you do, and had a rather heated debate about George W. Bush in the confined space of a Peugeot 206.
Upon arriving at the restaurant, I was presented with a fantasmagorical selection of foods to choose from. Unfortunately, just as I was feasting my eyes on the cold starters bench, a pulchritudinous waitress appeared from out of nowhere to whisk me away to my table.
A slight malheureux awaited me; I was positioned within a half-metre radius to a pensioner party of around twenty people. They kept giving me dodgy looks and muttering. Most likely curses and poxes on me, but nonetheless I continued with my reading of the menu.
The self-same waitress then pounced forth from the shadows, which startled me into making a rather rash decision about wanting the cold starter table and French onion soup. I don't even like soup. Stop thrusting good looking waitresses on me. Please. I need both of my hands above the table to eat, chrissakes.
I have to admit, though; the starter course was sublime, even if I was somewhat distracted by the lovely waitress, which caused me to choke on my prawns a large number of times.
Afterwards came the main course; I had simply claimed that I did not request soup at all. Not me. Never. However, it was a bit of a letdown, rather a "dude, where's my meat?" type scenario.
Finally came dessert. This is the part of the meal where your stomach starts to think, "no, I really could not consume another bite," whereas your brain whsipers to you, "WHAT?! YOU'D WASTE ALL THAT MONEY?!"
Inevitably, I gave it a go. You always do. End up stuffing the last few morsels into your mouth. Bleargh. I feel sick now. Leave me alone. Please. :(
I got myself a taxi to the restaurant, as you do, and had a rather heated debate about George W. Bush in the confined space of a Peugeot 206.
Upon arriving at the restaurant, I was presented with a fantasmagorical selection of foods to choose from. Unfortunately, just as I was feasting my eyes on the cold starters bench, a pulchritudinous waitress appeared from out of nowhere to whisk me away to my table.
A slight malheureux awaited me; I was positioned within a half-metre radius to a pensioner party of around twenty people. They kept giving me dodgy looks and muttering. Most likely curses and poxes on me, but nonetheless I continued with my reading of the menu.
The self-same waitress then pounced forth from the shadows, which startled me into making a rather rash decision about wanting the cold starter table and French onion soup. I don't even like soup. Stop thrusting good looking waitresses on me. Please. I need both of my hands above the table to eat, chrissakes.
I have to admit, though; the starter course was sublime, even if I was somewhat distracted by the lovely waitress, which caused me to choke on my prawns a large number of times.
Afterwards came the main course; I had simply claimed that I did not request soup at all. Not me. Never. However, it was a bit of a letdown, rather a "dude, where's my meat?" type scenario.
Finally came dessert. This is the part of the meal where your stomach starts to think, "no, I really could not consume another bite," whereas your brain whsipers to you, "WHAT?! YOU'D WASTE ALL THAT MONEY?!"
Inevitably, I gave it a go. You always do. End up stuffing the last few morsels into your mouth. Bleargh. I feel sick now. Leave me alone. Please. :(