We were having a great romance. Bob spent all the time with me he could, and I -- well, I was crazy wild about him. I wanted Thanksgiving dinner to be perfect -- maybe then he would see me as part of his future. The duck entrée was basted with orange liqueur and stuffed with grapes. When it came out of the oven, it was a beautiful golden brown.
Other guests watched as Bob attempted to carve it. He found it hard as plate glass. I had neglected to sew up the neck opening and all precious moisture had evaporated. He valiantly tried to find any way to carve that bird, but it was absolutely inedible.
When the laughter and kidding died down, we ate hot dogs.
Know what? Bob married me anyhow.