A bright and beautiful woman once realized with embarrassment that, for our first date, she took me out for BBQ, the counterman exhibiting surprise at the unexpected sight of a woman paying for our platters at the register, rolls of paper towels on the tabletops, four-feet tall trophies in window, picking up the heavy glass of water with both hands because the nervous adrenaline rush made it impossible to lift with one shaky right hand. Our first kiss in the parking lot afterwards was sweet and tasted of brisket and it was easy to imagine being happy if it was the last first kiss I ever had. What's embarrassing and unromantic about that? Nothing, I say.
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