Garrison Keillor: And now, a message from the Partnership of English Majors.

(TABLEWARE)


Sue Scott: Oh, Frank. This is so wonderful -- I never went to a steakhouse before.


Tim Russell: Yeah, well. No biggie.


SS: You suppose they have salads here?


TR: Heck yes. Whatever. -- Here, I got you something.


SS: What's this? A little bright blue box wrapped in a white ribbon--


TR: Yeah, the way I see it-- our information-gathering phase is over and it's time to move the relationship into third gear. So I'd like to gift you with this box.


SS: Sorry, you'd like to-what?


TR: Gift you. I'm gifting you here.


SS: Oh. Oh dear-I don't know--


TR: So what do you say, Jessica? Are you in or out?


SS: I like you, Frank...but-- when I hear you use "gift" as a verb--


TR: Whatcha talking about?


SS: Gift is a noun, Frank. It shouldn't be used as a verb.


TR: Oh please. You're not going to be one of those people, are you?


SS: I am one of those people, Frank. I'm an English major-I thought you understood that.


TR: I thought you'd get over that, Jessica.


SS: Frank, being an English major is not something you get over. It's who I am. Language matters to me.


GK: Would you two like to see the dessert menu?


TR: Listen, mister, bug off, we got something going on here.


SS: Please, Frank--


GK: We have an audacious cheesecake tonight that is refulgent with cheese, a shimmering and resplendent dessert with plump, one might almost say Rubensesque, cherries on top.


TR: Hey, did you hear me, creep? Amscray.


SS: Did you say "Rubensesque?"


GK: Yes, of course.


SS: Most people would say "Rubenesque"--


GK: I know, but that would be wrong.


SS: Exactly. It refers to the painter. Peter Paul Rubens.


GK: Of course.


SS: You're the first person I know who has used that word correctly. I want to cry.


GK: Please. Here's a fresh napkin.


SS: For a moment, I thought you might be-- but o no, I'm being silly--


GK: You thought I might be what?


SS: You're a waiter, but somehow I thought you might be a poet--


GK: I have a book of poems coming out next month. It's called "A Small Salad On The Side".


SS: Oh my gosh.


GK: It's my first collection.


SS: I'd give anything to read it!


GK: It's back at my apartment.
SS: Let me get my coat.


TR: Guess I'll take this ring and get out of here.


SS: Goodbye, Frank.


TR: I could've offered you a lot, Jessica. A lot.


SS: Maybe so. But there was no poetry, Frank.


TR: What????


SS: Poetry. (ROMANTIC VIOLIN) I could never be happy in that enormous condo of yours. That expensive furniture. The pool, the Jacuzzi. You forgot something, Frank.


TR: What was that?


SS: A bookshelf. There were no bookshelves. --Come.


GK: I'll get your coat. And here, sir.


TR: The bill. Oh thanks a lot.


GK: You're welcome.


TR: Don't expect a big tip, bozo.


GK: Eighteen percent. It's included.


TR: Curses! (MUTTERS OF RAGE)


GK: A message from the Partnership of English Majors.