I'd love to have dinner with amaretto!
I'd even behave.
Not like the time, when I was a cute twigget, a dear old friend, I'd known for about ten minutes, named John--How can I remember that far back? I called them all, John--took me to dinner at the Savoy.
After I drank the finger-bowl--Tasted a bit soapy: too much cilantro, I think--I ordered:
A big bottle (I hadn't then heard the word, Magnum, thought it was named for a t.v. detective.) of Tatty--something-or-other Champagne,
shrimp cocktail,
lobster bisque,
Caesar salad,
a king crab,
fillet mignon (Ladies cut: must not over-do.),
lionized potatoes,
asparagus with holand-daisy sauce,
the cheese tray (Just the bloody tray. I hate cheese!),
chocolates,
coffee,
a B & B,
strawberries Rim-`em-off,
and flamin' crepe Suzettes!
John sweetly asked, "Does your mother feed you like this when you're at home?"
I replied, "No, Baby! But my Mama don't `spect to do me after dinner!"

As it turned out, my eyes were bigger than my stomach. I was so ill he had to send me home in a taxi.

But I did my best to make it up to him.
Next night; I took him to my favorite Soho restaurant: Wimpie's.