Ethnography over a Candle-lit Dinner

You speak to the dainty blonde waitress
And let me pick the wine
I show off my knowledge
Say 'tis the season for whites
You still opt for a red
I notice it is organic
You make a joke about compost
And pass me the mains menu
Both of us order pizzas
Yours gleams with pink prawns
I forget the taste of mine
But recall the pine nuts
You and I walk through the rain
And settle on a hot chocolate
Yours is spicy too
I explain my hot food aversion
You nod and gaze at your cup
And walk me to my car
I rev up the engine and the heating
And picture the exotic tea leaves
Patiently awaiting my return.