Tonight Matt and I are taking a cooking class. My husband’s not much one for cooking—though he makes a mean smoothie and should probably patent his granola concoctions—but we got a gift certificate for our wedding and this session is Italian food (Pasta with clam sauce! Cannolis!), so I was able to twist his arm. These classes call for four chefs to a station, which means we’ll be paired with another couple. I’ve already warned Matt that we need to time our arrival perfectly—we don’t want to be too late because I want to scope out the couple we’re paired with, but we don’t want to be too early either, lest we be the scopees rather than scopers.
If we do end up spotting a really promising-looking couple, I’m a little scared my enthusiasm for the potential new friends might turn us into the Heffernans in this King of Queens clip—I, of course, being the Kevin James of our duo (if you’re reading this in an email or RSS feed you’ll have to click through to see this video… Do it! It’s worth it):
Yes, I would be the one all “Hi, I’m Rachel. You like to cook? I have a stove! Come over! We’ve got enough aprons for everyone!” Matt would be the one hiding. Inside the oven.
So as to save me from embarassment and divorce, let’s decide now what I should do. I’m thinking perhaps save the movie and Olive Garden invitations for another time. Start small, perhaps go business card again. I’ll do the number exchanging with the female half of the couple. Guys seem to think friendship advances are creepier than women do. Unless he’s a Red Sox fan, in which case he and Matt will be bonded for life. And we’ll all live happily ever after.
Got any advice for what I should say tonight to avoid turning into Kevin James? And what should he have done in this scene, anyway? Was there any way to make the move without prompting a restraining order? Please rescript this trip to Home Depot, or let me know if you have any brilliant ideas for tonight. I promise to keep you posted on the flip side.