"How'd you like your coffee?"

"Baby, I like my coffee like I like my women... I like all kinds of coffee."

What in the world did that mean? For example, what type of woman would match a decaf? She wasn't the type of woman to spit in his cup, but she also wasn't one to fall for cheap lines.

Wait - had that even been a line? He'd basically just said that he liked all types of women - not very specific or flattering. She didn't count the sugar cubes as she dropped them into his cup, and she didn't pretend to trip when she dumped the cup on his right thigh.

"Augh-hot cha cha cha, you're just full of surprises. Do you have room for another one?"

"Another what?"

"It's a surprise, but first we have to figure out what to do about these pants, any suggestions?"

"How about you don't get any more coffee spilled on them?"

Why weren't any of his lines working? Surely it wasn't a matter of delivery or rehearsal, so it must have been a lack of sophisticated appreciation on her part. She didn't even know how to make a cup of coffee without spilling it. He changed tact.

"Your number, I want it."

"My number is 17."

"That's a good start. Keep going."

"That's it. You were asking for my age, right?"

"oh."