“I really hate blind dates,” said Gertrude as she sat across the table from her blind date in a posh restaurant with candles on every table. She dug in to her baked potato as though it was a mound of dirt, piled beside an open grave. Clearly she was more the drive-thru type.

“Then why did you come?” Victor asked reasonably.

Gertrude shrugged her neon green fleece-clad shoulders. “Never had lobster before.”

Victor had an idea. “You know, if they don’t cook the lobster enough it will come back to life and bite you.”

His date dropped her fork. With a clatter it bounced off the plate and onto the floor. Victor plucked his napkin off his lap and dabbed the corner of his mouth as he stared at her plate. “I think I saw it twitch.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No. Seriously. I…” He stopped a passing waiter – the one who had, in fact, placed their meals on the table. “Did you see that?”

“See what, Sir?”

“I think the lady’s lobster is still alive.”

He saw a slight grin on the waiter’s face. “Oh dear, not again. I’ll inform the chef.”

“Get someone out here to catch it first, would you?” Victor said. “I think it’s going to jump.”

With that, Gertrude stood. The waistband of her track pants caught the tablecloth and lifted it, flipping the plate clean off the table onto the floor. She ran, shrieking from the restaurant. Victor didn’t follow her.

“Thanks, mate,” he said to the waiter. “I’ll add a little extra to the tip.”

“Not at all, Sir,” said the waiter as he hurried off to find someone to catch the lobster, which was presently chasing off the remaining women diners.

Note: Other than the title of this post, it had nothing to do with the title of anything at all.

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