I planned a lovely meal of oven broiled steak, macaroni in a light white sauce, and fresh green salad. My buddy arrived early to help with the final preparations. While I gently tossed the greens, he wandered over to the macaroni and white cheese sauce and said something about it not having enough cheese. Before I could react, he grabbed a massive handful of cheddar cheese and dumped it into the pot. My macaroni in light white sauce was now good old fashioned mac'n cheez. Wonderful. Just then, the girls arrived. Knowing it wouldn't take long for the steaks to broil, I put them in the oven and proceeded to welcome the ladies to my humble abode. We took their coats, sat around the fire and made the usual small talk.
The small talk must have went very well, because before long we noticed a slight burning smell, followed by the unmistakable sound of a smoke detector. I bolted into the kitchen and learned the live long lesson that broiled foods must be watched, grabbed the smoking pan of meat, and ran out the front door in a futile attempt to save our lungs for our now vegetarian dinner. Being the good sport that she was, my date ate the mac'n cheez and salad in good humor, the slight haze in the room only making her all the more alluring.
Following dinner we settled down for a movie. I sat somewhat stiffly next to my date, close enough for her to know I was there but with enough space for her to know that I was a gentleman. Midway through the show I decided to try my luck and hold her hand. I inched over a bit, waited for 30 minutes, and then reached out my hand. She held out her hand in return, but not in the receptive "I'm-so-glad-you-want-to-hold-my-hand" manner so much as the "I'm-so-glad-you're-handing-me-something" shape. It quickly and awkwardly dawned on both of us that we had a mutual misunderstanding of intentions. Either because she felt sorry for me, or because I had no M&M's to give her, she relented and held my hand for the rest of the movie. And the rest, as they say, is history.