Jamie sighed. It was nearly eight o’clock, and she had begun to regret having accepted Bob’s invitation to meet for dinner. She hadn’t seen him for quite a while, and remembered him as being rather dull. In fact, the only memorable event she recalled with any clarity was the “molotov cocktail” she’d given him. Bored to tears on their first (and only) date, she’d fed him salted peanuts, potato chips and pretzels. Then, she had offered an outrageously thirsty Bob a huge pitcher of a bland concoction consisting of water and the contents of a large box of baking soda.
