“Honey, I’ve got bad news—” They both stopped.
“You go first,” Miss Snark said.
EE shook his head, his sole remaining hope another minute without a red stiletto buried in his chest. “Ladies first—I insist.”
Miss Snark fought back premonitions of laser vision gone wrong and started. “They remember last year.”
Relieved, EE flopped down on the nearest piece of furniture—an endtable with a Swarovski koala as decoration. There was a decided “crunch,” which actually doesn’t lend this story as much comic relief as it might have had it gotten stuck, ahem, in the hot cross buns. “I was just about to say the same thing—I called everyplace.”
Miss Snark, hearing the crunch, smiled sweetly and reached for both the whetting stone in her purse and her right stiletto. The obvious ensued in a predictably ominous manner. “As did I (scritch schritch slither). I do believe we (hissh) will have to consider alternate forms of Valentine entertainment, or condescend to go to a lesser restaurant.”
EE’s eyes widened at the whetting of the stilettos, just like a newly-21-year-old boy whose fairly conservative parents have taken him out for a night on the town (true story, that). He blinked, willing his laser vision to warm up quickly. “We could try Chicago.”
“And leave the 212?” Miss Snark asked. “Not likely.” Her stiletto now looked like a very red, lethal stiletto, and she threw it. EE’s laser vision vaporized it in midair.
Miss Snark glared at him and reached for her left stiletto, but EE reached out a hand and stopped her.
“Why don’t we go shopping instead.”
“You owe me new shoes and a koala.”
EE grimaced. “Will McKoala do?”
“Hah. Swarovski, or I’ll find myself a date who can actually get reservations.”
They shook on it.