f you're really interested in knowing what your meals look like after they've digested for a few hours, I recommend drinking tons of beer followed by buckets of sugary cocktails. I went on a date last summer that started out with dinner and beers, and then progressed to barhopping across my neighborhood. Eventually we wound up at a pub that was less than a block from my house. It was here that my date began ordering lemon drops for both of us, which are mixture of vodka, lemon juice, and massive amounts of sugar. After drinking four or five of those, we left the bar and stumbled to my house.

It's fair to say that by the time we reached my place I was completely hammered. I'm a fairly lean guy and it's rare that I drink to excess, so it's not difficult for booze to gain the upper hand against my pathetic sack of organs. We went upstairs, turned off the lights, and did that thing that adults do where they grunt and let their privates fly around the room. Post-coitus, I started to feel a mixture of hunger and nausea. I went downstairs to the kitchen and my dog, who had been quietly waiting at the foot of the bed, followed me down. I opened the refrigerator and saw nothing to eat, save for some rotten teriyaki stir fry I'd cooked a few weeks earlier. It was at this point that the nausea began to overpower the hunger, so I went to the bathroom and barfed my guts out. This went on for a few minutes.

When I came out of the bathroom, the teriyaki stir fry was sitting on the hardwood floor just outside the kitchen. The tupperware lid had been removed and it'd been placed near the stairwell. it appeared as if someone had taken the stir fry out in order to feed it to my dog. Luckily, my dog seemed as disinterested in it as I was. Enraged, however, my drunken little brain quickly narrowed the suspects down to either myself or my date, who was asleep upstairs.

I went back upstairs and burst into the room.

My date bolted upright and replied:

This debate raged on for a few minutes until I ran out of steam and passed out in bed. In retrospect, I think sometime between barfing and blacking out, I was probably the one who put the Teriyaki on the floor.

There was no second date.