1. Clean;
2. Well-rested;
3. Impeccably dressed;
4. Well-versed in current events and prepared to deliver a handful of hilarious yet tasteful jokes on relevant topics; and
5. Ready to Dougie, if asked.

In reality, when Michelle came for lunch,

1. I hadn’t showered in two days;
2. I’d slept less than five hours each night for the previous three weeks, due to a recurring nightmare about burning risotto and disappearing pan handles;
3. I was in a carrot-spattered chef’s coat and oversize pants held up by a belt made of twisted Saran Wrap;
4. I hadn’t read a paper in weeks and felt comfortable conversing mainly about legumes; and
5. I’d spent the last week picking up heavy objects “properly,” according to a chiropractor, which required that I continually squat while sticking my butt out. As a result, I was unable to do a stiff-limbed waltz, let alone a shimmy.

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