Conversation Quickies: Dinner?

“What do want to do for dinner?” I ask.

“I don’t care. So tired of thinking about what to have.” She frowns. “Nothing interests me, seems like the same things over and over.”

“We’re still talking about food, right?” I ask with my best pouty face.

“Bored of that too”, she replies. “Talk about your same-old, same-old. Although, I have to admit, I think it’s admirable you’ve remained loyal to all your ‘moves’ from the 1980’s”

I slowly place my hand across my chest to represent the hurt she’s caused my heart. “I’ll have you know that many of my moves came from the 90’s. I spent hours watching Demi Moore in ‘Striptease’ to perfect that leg spin maneuver.”

“As I recall”, she says scrunching her face up and tapping her fingers on the kitchen island, “you were always too tired after those research sessions to actually employ anything you learned,” emphasizing ‘research sessions’ with air quotes.

“What? You know I require some down time after watching Demi.” As she rolls her eyes I give her my best malevolent stare. Unfazed, she slowly crosses her eyes at me so I spit out in mock disgust “I don’t even know who you are.”

“No. I think you mean you don’t even know where it is.” Proud of herself, she scratches an imaginary point into the air in front of her as if to say “One for me!”

With my finger wagging across at her, I say “Blasphemy! You’ve had the great fortune to be the recipient of some of the finest minutes I have ever given to a lady friend. Tales of my prowess will be discussed in hushed tones around firepits for generations.”

“Reeeaaaaallly? Would that be during short story hour? Or perhaps they could be told as limericks?” she giggles to herself.

“Oh… you so funny!” I say as I squint my eyes and buck out my front teeth. “Your gonna be cracking ‘em up at the homeless shelter.”

Shaking her head, she sticks out her tongue before she turns to look into the fridge. After a few moments of examining its contents, she queries “How about meatloaf?”

“Is that some sort of crack? First, I’m quick on the trigger and now, I’m inactive?” I say raising my palms up in surrender.

“Oh, shut up and help. Or its PB&J on saltines.” She saunters over to the open pantry and looks about.

“Yum-my”, I stretch out the word as I rub my tummy. Then raising my index finger, I say “If I recall, that’s actually your mother’s best dish. How lucky am I that you’ve been able to maintain these precious recipes throughout the years.”

She gives me the ‘Watch it’ look and walks over to the phone and dials. As I listen to her walk through her pizza order, she turns and looks towards me. “Name?” she asks into the phone. “Just put it under Fuckface”. She finishes up with “yup….see you in 30 minutes”.

She smiles and gives me a slight nod as she lays the phone down. “Guess I’ll be answering the door, huh?”, I ask.