She reads all these books about dating and relationships and really wants all the theories that she reads about to work. Guys leaving their own beverages at a girl’s house after—what, three weeks?—doesn’t work for her.”
“Four weeks,” Jerry said.
“Four weeks
now
. Three when you left them here.”
“Oh, yeah. I guess so.” His mouth pulled nervously at the corners. “You think we need to slow down?”
“No, no, no. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just Lauren. I’m not suggesting that I agree.”
He took the ice-cream bowl I handed him. “Well, what are some of her other theories?”
“Let’s see. That couples in the early stages of a relationship are better off spending at least half their time apart. And that they should have frequent meetings to discuss the status of their relationship—like, real meetings, where you might want to take notes.”
Jerry ate a spoonful of ice cream. “I could prepare a PowerPoint presentation.”
I laughed. “Right now she’s really into the idea of couples’ workshops. Going away to the Poconos or a ranch out in Nevada and having intensive communication sessions with ‘relationship guides.’ Now all she needs is a man to go with.”
Sitting down on the sofa, Jerry propped a pillow under his arm and carefully scooped up equal parts ice cream and whipped cream. “I would agree that communication is important,” he said, “but it seems like you should be able to talk to your significant other without flying to Europe to do it.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you.” I curled up on the other end of the sofa and reached for the remote. “Let’s see what my sister’s up to this week.”
Only a few minutes into the show, one of the Yankee girls was shown sitting on her bed with a bolster pillow on her lap, talking earnestly into the camera. “The individual immunity challenges start today,” she was saying, “and it totally
sucks
. The only girl who doesn’t need to worry about getting voted off is Grace. Everyone wants to be up against her in the Final Four because she’s so mean that she doesn’t have a
chance
of getting chosen by Rhett or Ashley. But the rest of us are totally on the chopping block.”
“Well, that’s good news,” I said.
When the challenge rolled around, all the girls were in the rose garden again, lined up behind individual little Louis XIV-style side tables. Each wore a vintage afternoon dress with a wide hoopskirt and her little flag brooch pinned to her bosom. Brent Holloway smiled from beside a larger table, his hands behind his back again. I envisioned a whole walk-in closet full of those identical raw-cotton shirts, a team of wardrobe assistants pressing casually identical wrinkles into the bottoms with a steam iron.
“Today we’ve got a very unique challenge ahead of us,” he grinned. “I’ll be setting a variety of foods in front of you that are all well-loved regional Southern dishes. Each food must be eaten in its entirety before you can move to the next round. There are eight of you left, so with each round, the last to finish her challenge item will be eliminated. Do all of you understand the rules?”
The girls nodded somberly.
“All right. For our first item, a good old-fashioned Louisiana bayou treat. Alligator garfish.” He set down the blue-flowered china plates in front of them, each with a small brownish-gray fish on it. “Go.”
The last girl to finish was the one from Louisiana. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I grew up with them things. I’d rather eat garbage.”
They worked their way through pigs’ feet and eggplant custard and boiled okra, which caused one Yankee girl to gag and disqualify herself by spitting the first spoonful back out onto the ground.
“It’s supposed to be
edible,”
she protested.
“Even
I
could eat that!” yelled the Louisiana girl from the sidelines.
“Maybe you’ve had more practice swallowing stuff with that kind of a consistency,” the
“Four weeks,” Jerry said.
“Four weeks
now
. Three when you left them here.”
“Oh, yeah. I guess so.” His mouth pulled nervously at the corners. “You think we need to slow down?”
“No, no, no. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just Lauren. I’m not suggesting that I agree.”
He took the ice-cream bowl I handed him. “Well, what are some of her other theories?”
“Let’s see. That couples in the early stages of a relationship are better off spending at least half their time apart. And that they should have frequent meetings to discuss the status of their relationship—like, real meetings, where you might want to take notes.”
Jerry ate a spoonful of ice cream. “I could prepare a PowerPoint presentation.”
I laughed. “Right now she’s really into the idea of couples’ workshops. Going away to the Poconos or a ranch out in Nevada and having intensive communication sessions with ‘relationship guides.’ Now all she needs is a man to go with.”
Sitting down on the sofa, Jerry propped a pillow under his arm and carefully scooped up equal parts ice cream and whipped cream. “I would agree that communication is important,” he said, “but it seems like you should be able to talk to your significant other without flying to Europe to do it.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you.” I curled up on the other end of the sofa and reached for the remote. “Let’s see what my sister’s up to this week.”
Only a few minutes into the show, one of the Yankee girls was shown sitting on her bed with a bolster pillow on her lap, talking earnestly into the camera. “The individual immunity challenges start today,” she was saying, “and it totally
sucks
. The only girl who doesn’t need to worry about getting voted off is Grace. Everyone wants to be up against her in the Final Four because she’s so mean that she doesn’t have a
chance
of getting chosen by Rhett or Ashley. But the rest of us are totally on the chopping block.”
“Well, that’s good news,” I said.
When the challenge rolled around, all the girls were in the rose garden again, lined up behind individual little Louis XIV-style side tables. Each wore a vintage afternoon dress with a wide hoopskirt and her little flag brooch pinned to her bosom. Brent Holloway smiled from beside a larger table, his hands behind his back again. I envisioned a whole walk-in closet full of those identical raw-cotton shirts, a team of wardrobe assistants pressing casually identical wrinkles into the bottoms with a steam iron.
“Today we’ve got a very unique challenge ahead of us,” he grinned. “I’ll be setting a variety of foods in front of you that are all well-loved regional Southern dishes. Each food must be eaten in its entirety before you can move to the next round. There are eight of you left, so with each round, the last to finish her challenge item will be eliminated. Do all of you understand the rules?”
The girls nodded somberly.
“All right. For our first item, a good old-fashioned Louisiana bayou treat. Alligator garfish.” He set down the blue-flowered china plates in front of them, each with a small brownish-gray fish on it. “Go.”
The last girl to finish was the one from Louisiana. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I grew up with them things. I’d rather eat garbage.”
They worked their way through pigs’ feet and eggplant custard and boiled okra, which caused one Yankee girl to gag and disqualify herself by spitting the first spoonful back out onto the ground.
“It’s supposed to be
edible,”
she protested.
“Even
I
could eat that!” yelled the Louisiana girl from the sidelines.
“Maybe you’ve had more practice swallowing stuff with that kind of a consistency,” the
Similar Books
