After I identified the aria* playing in the cheesy Italian chain restaurant we were in, DTG called me refined. Hilarious because (1) I called him not 15 minutes earlier and opened with, "Yo, b!tch ass...", and (2) because we were having a late dinner in order to catch Revenge of the Sith(the night it came out, thank you very much.) Neither of these things says "refined" to me. I did, however, write the word "raffiné(e)" (French) for him on the paper cloth with the provided crayons. (Yes - that kind of restaurant.)
Actual conversation last night:
Me: So are you having dinner with me?
DTG: Uh, no.
DTG: Blah blah blah (I think he was talking about his new job, but who knows?)
Me: Seriously, are we having dinner or what?
DTG: Blah blah blah. Oh, I got my first paycheck today!
Me: Oh good, so dinner is on you!
DTG: Wow, way to strong arm me! And we're not even dating!
Me: Well, according to us, at least.
Shortly thereafter, walking to dinner (I won), DTG was a little concerned because the back pocket of his pants ripped a teeny hole in his pants.
DTG: Does it look okay??
Me: It's not noticeable.
DTG: Are you sure?
Me: Yeah, looks fine.
Me: I don't want to look at your butt anymore!
DTG: But you kinda do.
Ah, good times...good times.
* "La Donna é Mobile" from Verdi's "The Rigoletto." Nearly everyone knows this tune - it was in a Pillsbury commercial, for crying out loud. (I think Doughboy sang about dinner rolls, or some such.)