"I suggest dinner... a brace of Donner," EE said.
"No. Some Internet geek calculated that Santa must travel at 3604.3678 miles per hour to deliver all his gifts. At that speed, the reindeer fry from friction. There's a web site that sells Reindeer ribs, wrapped in bacon and cooked by the blast of a jet engine. It's a festive plate of reindeer with cranberry dressing and Blitzen Bock beer." He smacked his lps.
"Sounds perfectly atrocious. How do you have a romantic evening with crispy-critter game meat? We're not barbarians. I didn't knock my fiance' on the head and drag her into a cave with roast beast twirling over an open fire. We're going to a three-star restaurant with fine wine and fancy food."
"Is she a good-looker like Mrs. V? You got a picture? All you kids got pictures in them cell phone gadgets." Visions of naked sugarplums danced in EE's head.
"To me, she's the prettiest girl in the world."
"How about summers going out and about in a boat at Cape Lullubeau? Here's a proper three-masted schooner, very yar, quick to the helm. Cheap too. Owned by a little old lady who only took her out on alternate weekends." He peeled a naval orange.
"You're sparring with me."
"Perhaps a pashmina shawl for her lovely shoulders?"
"What's a pashmina?"
"It's cashmere from exotic goats in the Gobi Desert. My cousin Raul the Goatherd caresses the fur into skeins of yarn for his wife, Yazi Queen of All Gobi, to weave into ethereally soft shawls."
"Your cousin lives in the Gobi? I thought your family came from Queens."
"Ever since we signed the deal. Now he's like a brother. Nice guy but smells of goat." EE shuddered.
"Didn't need to know that. She adores cobalt-blue with gold trim."