Mr. Bean had a nightmare about his oysters.
They “met” online. They… texted. (Eat your heart out, Shakespeare.) He invited her out for a few drinks, at a clam house in Atlanta. This is where the wheels start to come off.
What do you do? I mean, what the dickens do you do when your date orders 4 dozen oysters (!)–yes, four dozen–and proceeds to slurp them down, one after another. With sound effects. And that was just the appetizer.
“Excuse me. I’ve got to go to the bathroom.” Exit unhappy wooer. He escaped, sticking Ms. 4 Dozen with the tab. She seemed aggrieved over that.
Contemporary courtship customs leave something to be desired, eh? I wonder how much of his money she would’ve spent, had he stayed.