For 45 minutes, you waited for the dish to bake while watching TV with Kelly. She laid back on her couch, and you were sitting on a cup holder on the coffee table in front of her. Her phone was lying on the table, near you. She had set a timer for the oven. The phone was like a massive slab platform to you. It was big enough for a whole cast of tinies to put on a play.

You tried to joke and quip with her about the vapid reality show you were watching, but you found it embarrassing to look behind you. She probably didn’t realize that her skirt had ridden up to her knees, and you could just make out her panties in the darkness between her smooth thighs. You weren’t sure if she would be able to make out where you were looking, so you decided not to chance it.

She didn’t seem to mind passing the time like this, and it was a relief that you didn’t have to spend 45 minutes making awkward small talk. God, why did you have to put on a show for her? She didn’t know a thing about cooking. Hopefully she’d change her mind when she tasted it. 

She was completely absorbed by the show, though. She laughed at all the narrator’s dumb jokes, and gasped at all the dramatic reveals. At one point, she put her feet up on the table, on either side of you. You shuddered at the two massive, pink-sandaled colossi on either side of you. It was impossible to avert your eyes from her incredible feet, as they were so close to you that they blocked your view of the sides of the television. It was hard not to be distracted by them as they swayed back and forth while she was bored, or when she laughed and unconsciously flexed and wiggled her toes. You were certain now that if you looked behind you you’d get a great view of her panties. She didn’t mention it, and it almost seemed like she had forgotten about you entirely.

Finally, the phone alarm went off. The beep was deafening, and the buzzing of the phone knocked you off your feet. You felt like you were being electrocuted.

“Oh gosh, sorry little guy! Let me get that for you.” She got her feet off the table and leaned forward to grab the phone. “Oh, the beef is done! I can’t wait to taste it!” She jumped up and started to run over to the counter, when she turned on her heel and came back. “Oops, I almost forgot the little chef!” She scooped you up and returned to the kitchen, where she sat you on the counter and opened the oven, giving you another great view of her plump behind.

Using some kitchen towels, she slid the pan out of the oven and placed it near you. It radiated so much heat you had to back away. The pots of Beef Bourguignon, huddled together in a corner of the pan near you, looked perfect, and they smelled incredible. You wondered if she could smell them at all?

“Wow, they look so cute! I mean, they look really good! How did they turn out?” 

You looked them over, considering the color, smell, texture, and other things you were taught to analyze by sight and smell. There was no doubt in your mind that these were the best Beef Bourguignons you’d ever made, and you were sure these would send anyone straight to food heaven, but you wanted to be a little more humble than that. “I think they came out great. Why don’t we let them cool off for a bit, and give them a taste?”

“Sure!”

After a few minutes (it didn’t take long for tiny dishes to cool off), you plated them on some large serving plates you had brought, and presented them to her.

“Here you go, Kelly. Some Beef Bourguignon,” you took a cheesy little bow. “Bon Appetit.”

“Haha, oh stop! You’re too cute. Ooh, wait, let me get a snap.” She took out her phone and took a landscape shot. “Some little Beef Bougie with my cute tiny chef! Bone apple tea!”

Okay, now you felt humiliated. She was treating you like some kind of toy. But dammit, she was hot enough that you didn’t care. She could treat you like whatever she wanted.

“So, um, how do I eat this? These are some really tiny plates.” 

“Oh, well, normally, one of the instructors - ” wait, you didn’t want to seem like you’d never served anyone but a teacher before. “I mean, can you get a spoon? I’ll put these on your spoon instead.” Why did you go to the trouble of plating them? Stupid, stupid.

“Sure!” She dug through a drawer and pulled out a wide serving spoon, and placed it on the counter by you.

So, this is how your romantic meal would begin. By dumping your hard work onto a spoon. You reserved a plate for yourself, and walked back and forth between the plates and the spoon, climbing onto the sinkhole-sized spoon and dumping plate after plate into it.

You were on the last plate. You climbed up the metal lip of the spoon, and walked a few steps to the growing pool of “Beef Bougie.” You said to Kelly, “Okay, last one!” You looked over to her. Of course, she was just playing with her phone, not paying you any attention. You sigh and keep walking. Just then: