^This may not be what you may think this is. ^
Class date. Erin, wearing the pants in our relationship, or rather the knee-cut cargo shorts with frayed ends and deep pockets, came up with this absolutely fantastic idea a while back:
Not class “Let’s bring everyone in school!” date.
Class “We’re gonna waltz into a place that looks, smells, and tastes of vile, and make it classy, solely with our presence” date.
So we’re gonna dress up real nice, see? We’re gonna walk up and say “Hey, you serve ______?” And it’ll obviously be some dish way classier than McDonalds’ food. They’ll say no, and we’ll just say something really weird. I have this… strategy… to make everything they reply to an excuse to tell them something about us.
“We don’t have lobster.”
“Sorry. We’re from New Hampshire.”
It’s gonna be really fun, and Erin’ll bring her camera, and we’ll totally just deck our table out; tablecloth, candles, tea-lights, etc. We’ll put their flimsy napkins in our laps, or in my case, in my shirt collar.