A while back, I picked up a lovely date at her parents' home.

I'd scraped together some money to take her to a fancy restaurant.

She ordered the most expensive items on the menu. Oysters. Lobster. Champagne. The whole nine yards

I asked her, "Does your mother feed you like that when you eat at home?"

"No," she replied, "but my mother's not expecting a blow job tonight."

I said, "Would you care for dessert?"

Can we safely assume that the dessert is a cream filled meat roll smothered in underwear.