That lovin' feeling

Last night I had a very romantic dinner with my friend allicat. I mean it had all the makings for a romantic evening: Oysters on the half-shell (shucked by moi!), light salad, baguette and herbed goat-cheese, and bud light. Except Allicat is one of my oldest friends, the kind of friend you fart and pick your wedgies in front of, the kind of friend who so kindly does not point out how hippocritical it is that last month you were on a health kick and dragged her to a raw-food restaurant and now you're drinking and smoking and the like, the kind of friend who is not so easily wooed by said aphrodesiac menu. Shucking oysters is no easy task, I tell you and to quote Allicat's fiancee, "It was a brave brave man who first tasted oysters". I'm not sure if he was referring to the fact that only a lunatic would look at an oyster, a seemingly ordinary rocklike formation, and think Hey, maybe I'll just bash this rock open and see if there is anything inside of it to eat. Perhaps even crazier is the wherewithal to taste what was discovered inside which, I suppose, does kinda resemble parts of the female anatomy. Allicat and I had a long discussion about this and other things pertaining to sex and "sexy" foods and we concluded after ingesting all 20 oysters and a couple beers that we were simply full and bloated and felt in no way horny or sexy. Still, the oysters tasted amazing and maybe the real point is that if you need a slimy, grey mollusk to get you going, you got way bigger problems than a friday night with no date.