“One recent winter night, I be havin' a bad evenin' wi' a date. We be tryin' t' make-up. Th' winsome lass be late and I’d picked a terrible bar. It be too loud and th' weather had destroyed me flowers. Instead, we made fer a broadside galley just off o' Grand Central Terminal—ostensibly neutral territory fer us both.”
Th' winsome lass went fore wi' that comely wench list o' demands and I countered wi' mine. It be tense iteration back and forth in an awkward dance o' pretendin' t' listen t' th' other while anxiously awaitin' t' make yer own point. Th' galley be busy, but it wasn’t so busy that th' couple 'nother t' us didn’t take notice. Rather than ignore us in a likely fashion, aft they paid th' check and passed us t' weigh anchor th' wench, in that comely wench late 60s, leaned in and said e'er so lightly, ‘Ye two seem like such nice minnows. Ye shouldn’t try so hard.’ “
