It’s the last day of the year, whoopee! Allowing for some run in with Homeland Security (almost assumed at this point), TC will be just Chris late tomorrow afternoon. My Siberian brown snow tiger will be in DC. I am sure he will be in full diva mode amongst his subjects or rather subject (me).
I was authorized by his majesty to make a restaurant selection for the New Year’s festivities. It had to be a chic place, a cool location, trendy in all ways, but with good food as well AND most importantly accomodating to his food requirements. He desired an 8 p.m. reservation, sitting at 8.30 and out of there by 10 with dessert. Get on with it man, quit standing around.
Now you must understand that TC is quite picky about his food. He is officially a ‘chick-a-terian’, basically a vegetarian that will eat chicken. But only boneless, no bones please. In addition, he indicates he has a number of food allergies of all sorts of ingredients which he can detect in the most complex of dishes. I asked him if he was going to become allergic to my cock, to which, I got a lecture about the ‘right’ kinds of soap and body lotions. He said he would let me know, but based upon the attention he currently pays to my cock, I would say it’s already started. Dear lord, just shoot me now.
So with all of the criteria, I found a nice Italian for us to partake the evening festivities. I had the last reservation and was quite happy until the website showed a special New Year’s Menu full of delectables. Wild boar, duck, roasted quail, mussels, clams, lamb shank. Missing was a single ‘chick-a-terian’ dish. Dear lord, just shoot me now.
I immediately phoned the restaurant, hoping for a Saviour. The hostess was empathic (obviously ‘chick-a-terian’s aren’t as rare as I’d thought), I then found myself on the phone with the manager who recognized the dilemma and my urgent need to get laid on New Year’s Eve, she enlisted the chef , a 3-way huddle ensued with the Chef playing ‘stump the band’ with me. Yes, you can use strawberries AS LONG as they are organic from Maine and picked on a Tuesday by a Mexican who was a virgin. He’s allergic to normal strawberries, you see. After a few minutes, we concluded that the Chef was up to the challenge and would welcome our visit to his establishment. So off we shall go, I’ll let you know if I get any action.