Justin had rather brazenly bragged to Karen that he was a pretty good cook. That was before he liked her. Being a good cook was nonsense. He could hardly boil an egg.
Justin used to think Karen was a bit of a twit. Now he realized she was beautiful and gracious and charming and intelligent.
“Can I take you to dinner?” Justin asked Karen.
“I’d love to,” said Karen. “But, since you’re a good cook, why don’t you cook for me instead?”
“Ok!” said Justin, rather foolishly.
Bloomin’ heck! Gee whizz! What am I to do? – thought Justin.
He went to the library and looked through recipe books. He searched on the internet. He didn’t know what half the stuff was that was called for in the ingredients.
He phoned his mother.
Bloomin’ heck! Gee whizz! What am I to do, Mom? – said Justin.
“I’m not doing it for you, dear,” said his mother.
Justin practised cooking chicken pasta all week. The better he got at cooking it, the more he hated eating it. A week of chicken pasta.
Come the evening, Karen arrived looking prettier than ever.
“Look,” said Justin to Karen, “my bragging about being a good cook was all bullshit. So I’ve ordered Thai. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I love Thai,” said Karen.
They had a fantastic evening.
Bloomin’ heck! Gee whizz! – thought Justin.
Karen thought the same.