On how reality never lives up to the fantasy.

"Okay, I couldn't wait for you to call me. Now that I'm old and married, I have to live vicariously through someone. So how did the date with the hot French dude go? He's not still there, is he?"

"No, he's not here. The date was all right."

"All right? Just all right? You've been talking about getting together with this guy forever! He is HOT FRENCH DUDE. How could it be just all right? What happened?"

"Well, the date itself was actually awesome."

"Yeah? Where did you go?"

"We went to dinner at this joint called the Supper Club and it was just perfect. He was perfect. Sweet, romantic, interesting, funny. We totally hit it off. It almost seemed like I was starring in my own romantic comedy."

"That sounds awesome. So where's the 'all right' in that?"

"The 'all right' comes after. So I took him back to my place..."

"You slut!"

"...and we started making out. He was a great kisser and everything seemed absolutely perfect."

"So did you close the deal? Or did you not and he get pissy about it or something? I'm still trying to figure out the 'all right' part."

"No, no, nothing like that. It was great. And so after a while, we made our way up to my bedroom and started going at it. But once I got his pants off, I started laughing uncontrollably."

"Uh, do I want to know what in his pants was laughter-worthy? This isn't going to gross me out, is it?"

"It's just that once things started getting hot and heavy, he started going 'Oui, oui...oui, oui.' And once things got really, really heavy, his voice got all high-pitched and squeaky and those 'oui, oui's' came out more like 'wee-wee, wee-wee, wee-wee-wee-weeeeeeeeeeeeee.' And you know, there is absolutely nothing sexy about getting down and dirty with someone who sounds like a toddler who is telling you he has to go to the potty."