I saw this on some blog and couldn't stop laughing...
Last weekend my elite companions and I were discussing the sad truism that there are no decent, sophisticated women in America anymore. All these forlorn trollops have gone to the dogs. It was at that time that a commercial for the website eHarmony came on the air. We decided that one of our elite companions should build a profile and see if we could find a true lady out there.
As the most distinguished gentleman among my group, I was up to the task. I placed my ad and gave a rundown of my impressive credentials: Oxford, Princeton, Stanford, all the great academies the world over, a world class polo player, gourmet chef, and expert fox hunter. In less than a week, I got thousands of replies, as a man of my stature should. But one in particular caught my attention.
Her name was Daphne and she claimed to be a young art student. I thought...Daphne. Daphne was the pursuit of the greek god Apollo and a man of my caliber is certainly worthy of the gods' delights. Surely with a name like Daphne and an art student as well, how could I go wrong? I would take her to a nice restaurant and a showing of Phantom at the Opera at the Pantages Theatre.
So I phoned Daphne and decided that we would eat at the Hotel Bel Air restaurant, the finest 5 star in Los Angeles. When I arrived to pick her up at her abode in Los Angeles, she was wearing a sweatshirt bearing the insignia of that loathsome team of hooligans, sexual assaulters and steroid abusers, the Pittsburgh Steelers.
I said "Dear Lady, are you Daphne?"
She replied, "Uh uh sugah...are you the Distinguished Gentleman?"
Sadly, there was none around me that could remotely pass themselves off as a distinguished gentleman so I could make a quick exit. I had to reply yes.
"What type of art are you studying?"
"Oh that's for me to know and you to find out, YOU KNOW?"
"No, I don't know. But let's away my dear, your carriage awaits."
She entered into my classic Mercedes S Class (the proper vehicle for all men of distinct) and after slapping her hands off of my radio and other various controls, we were off.
Now the Hotel Bel Air has a strict dress code, so I decided it would be the gentlemanly thing to do to purchase an evening gown for the young Ms. Daphne. And after all, struggling art students don't always have the funds to purchase decent clothing, thus the reason for her dowdy attire. I asked her where does she shop.
We arrived at a place called the Alameda Swap Meet. I have heard of these places, but never have I experienced the incomprehensible sleaziness of these establishments. This lowbrow slice of Americana highlights the reason for my journey and re-affirmed my mission: To elevate the standards of the citizenry of this country.
Near the entrance, an old slovenly and sweaty man in a colorful shirt, smoking some strange type of pipe and sporting a mess of tangled hair was selling dresses. He looked at me hungrily, as if he wanted to rob me, kill me and perhaps even devour me whole. Naturally this is where Daphne chose to make her stop. The man greeted us with some incomprehensible garble.
"Weel-com to Crazy Mart-teens 'ouse uv eemports. Liss-un mon...me no com-mun higgler. Me got dey good stuff 'eer. Dres-suhs, sooze, an' all dee quality 'an-bags", blurted the thing.
"What the devil did you just say?" I responded.
I hastily made the woman purchase something, anything. She was able to find a evening dress, matching shoes and handbag for only $11.73, but only after haggling over the price for 30 minutes to drop it a whole $1.50. I hoped this would be the last embarrassing event of the night. My stomach rumbled with excitement at the thought of the restaurant and my favorite dish: A classic terrine de foie gras served in a fat triangle and set off by lashings of dark, tarry balsamic vinegar, diced pears and buttery toasted brioche.
"OOOOO WEEEE! This place is fancy" yelled the bane of my evening as we arrived. The Maitre'd, Charles, a dear friend, showed us to my favorite table, the center table in the middle of the floor, in full and clear view of all diners. I wished I hadn't called in reservations. The waiter approached our table, and as a distinguished gentleman, I implored Daphne to order first. She looked the menu over, frowned, and sat it back down to the table.
"Do y'all serve chipped ham?"
"Chipped Ham?" replied the astonished waiter.
"Yeah, chipped ham. Put it on two slices of white bread with some Parmesan cheese. Oh, and bring me a BIG bottle of Heinz Ketchup."
The waiter looked at me puzzled for a brief moment, shook his head, and exited.
"Just a moment sir...I haven't ordered!", I said. But it was too late. I saw the waiter speaking to the head of the Hotel Bel Air. I knew at once what this meant...
Moments later, we are back in the S-Class. I, the Distinguished Gentleman, had been ousted for the first time from a 5 star respected restaurant. This evening was beginning to become a nightmare. The creature spoke to me again.
"What kind of place don't serve chipped ham? Sugah, I'm hungry, pull over here at this corner."
I pulled over at a location where no man should stop his vehicle, even if a policeman is chasing him. The woman exited the vehicle saying "I'll be right back." She entered a store of some sort. I was not certain what store it was because I was too busy looking at the 7 tattooed gentlemen in plain white tee-shirts and dirty blue jeans staring at me.
I was ready to leave, to flee and drive away as fast as my carriage would take me. But as a gentlemen, I could not leave Daphne. The hooligans approached.
"Supp homay!" spoke a large man, the only one without a shirt. His pectoral muscles were larger than the hood of my car.
"Evening gentlemen. Lovely weather we're having." The young man opened my door and asked me to step out.
"Uh...is this valet parking, my good man?" I pondered. All his compatriots laughed.
"Ha ha...you got jokes! Nah, this ain't valet parking homay."
"Now don't go ruining my date, little cousin. He distinguished!" I heard a voice say. Daphne had returned. Something tells me it was right in the nick of time.
"My bad Daph, I didn't know you was here." said the grinning shirtless brute. He looked me in the eye "Y'all have fun" and walked off. Daphne entered the car and I sped off, nearly mowing down a child in the process. Could this evening get worse?
At last, we entered the Pantages Theatre. The opera began marvelously and soon i forgot all of the early woes. The man playing Erik sang beautifully. The set pieces and decor were impeccable. I was caught up in the opera, entranced by each movement, when someone caught my attention. This woman was digging around in her undergarments.
"What are you playing at, young lady? Stop that at once."
"Remember? Since we didn't get nuthin to eat, I stopped at the chicken place. You was drivin an couldn't eat, so I snuck you in some chicken."
At this, she produced a bucket of KFC from underneath her dress. My face fell into my hands, and I began sobbing uncontrollably. I'm certain she thought I was touched by her ridiculous gesture and the audience thought it was the opera. Neither was the case.
Near the final movement, as Erik is preparing to announce his ultimatum to Christine, (and audience members complained of a odor of fried chicken) I prayed that nothing further would come out of this creature's mouth. Indeed I have been embarrassed more in this evening than in any other in my life. (Of course, what can one expect dealing with a Steeler fan.) As I pondered my piteous situation, Christine announced her intention to deny Erik his request. It is a grand moment in the opera, truly a moment for the ages. Then suddenly I hear "YOU GO GIRL". I turn to my date in horror...
"I say dear lady, what the devil are you doing? Stop waving that towel around!"
At this moment, the ushers rudely escorted us out of the Theatre. I wasn't the slightest bit upset about it. I was glad to be finished with this evening.