“Well, young Greg, do you see anything on the menu that suits you?” Isadora asked.
“Quite a bit actually,” Greg said. “The hard part is narrowing it down to a single dish.”
“Ugh,” said Brigid. “There’s not enough chocolate on this menu. I’m going straight for dessert.”
“It’s an Italian restaurant,” said Greg. “Where would you possibly put chocolate besides a caffé mocha?”
“Lots of places!” said Brigid. “I mean really, eggplant parmesan? Fuck that noise. Smothered in chocolate is the only way you’d get me to eat eggplant.”
“You’ve never even had eggplant,” said Isadora.
“And nobody ever serves it smothered in chocolate,” said Brigid. “I detect a pattern.”
“Not everything is enhanced by adding chocolate,” said Greg.
“Oh yes it is,” said Brigid. “There’s nothing on this menu that wouldn’t be better with chocolate. Spaghetti? Better with chocolate. Lasagna? Better with chocolate. Garlic bread? Better with chocolate. Hell, I’d eat wasps if they were covered in chocolate.”
“Is that something you’re often called upon to do?” Greg asked.
“Well, no,” said Brigid. “But if the situation ever comes up, I know my stance on it.”
“At least you’ve got it well thought-out,” Isadora said, and quaffed some more of her wine sample.
“Shakespeare would be proud,” Greg agreed.
“To thine own chocolate, be true,” Brigid said, and began to raid the bowl of after-dinner mints.
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