Do You Eat This Well At Home?

They made an engaging-looking couple in the swank restaurant:

Prentiss—handsome, graying, obviously well to do, and young

Margaret —ravishing, delectable and obviously hungry.

"Tell me, my dear," he asked indulgently, "What would you like?"

She scanned the menu with an experienced eye.

"To begin," she said, "You may bring me a champagne cocktail, then a dozen oysters on the half shell and a tureen of turtle soup. As entrees I'll have the filet of English sole followed by the pheasant under glass.
Baked potato with sour cream and chives, plus an a la carte order of asparagus would be nice, too. And I'll have French dressing on the salad.
For dessert I'd like a great big double order of chocolate ripple ice cream, some blueberry pie and a cup of coffee. That should do it."

Somewhat taken aback, Prentiss nevertheless managed a smile as he asked, "Do you eat this well at home?"

Margaret favored him with a lazy grin.

"No," she said. "But then, nobody at home wants to sleep with me."