Okay. Here goes. Thousands of years ago, while attending college, I met a very nice, sweet, intelligent, humorous man/boy. We had gone out for coffee a couple of times and then had lunch once. He told me that he wanted to do all the work for our next date and invited me to come to his home and he would cook for me. I was thrilled. After all, he was using his stove for more than lab experiments and the oven wasn't storing a comic book collection. So, I took great care in my dress and drove to the address he had written on a piece of paper for me. I walked up to the front door, rang the bell and waited. And waited. And waited. I was just about to leave, when he came scurrying around the back side of the house and whispering, steered me to another entrance.
This was one room. The shower (stall type) and toilet were in one corner open to public view. There was a table with 2 mismatched chairs and a pull out couch without a mattress that was already pulled out, its cushions lovingly arranged on top. I started to make excuses for leaving, but he begged me to stay, and said that he had cooked something scrumptious for me. So, having a generous spirit, I sat down at the table. He ran to the corner where I was finally able to see the hot plate plugged in and next to it I saw 3 cans of Spaghetti O's. As I am standing up to flee, from over my head I hear 4 sharp raps on the ceiling. He explained that it was "mother" and she wanted her dinner brought up. I told him to take his time. Once he was gone, I ran out that door faster than any otter has ever sprinted before.
The next day, he explained to me that he was going to make love to me for the first time on that lovingly arranged cushion contraption and that he was actually 32 and had been living with his mother since birth.
The End.
