Little did boifromtroy know when he blogged about fondue or cheese, he’d shortly be dining out with me, instead of various hot men. It was a slight slap in the face when boi revealed this is why he took so long to respond to my inquiry. I hadn’t even noticed.

Update: I went back to the original post and boi replied to my comment seconds later--aha. Boi's memory is fuzzy, eh?

“But didn’t you click on the link?” He asked.
“Um, I don’t know.”
“It was about how cheese makes…”
“…I was focused on the idea of fondue.”
“….men have erections!”
“Oh…..oh!!!” I said popping another piece of cheesy bread in my mouth. I was wondering if I could sneak a peak.
Boi read my mind, “So far it hasn’t worked.”
“Maybe it’s the company,” I said.

Le Fondue Bourguounne was like being in a Saturday Night Live skit. I arrived to find tall, dark and handsome boi in a nice graphic Ben Sherman shirt. Boi’s been reading my blog and knows I like well-dressed people, I thought with pride.

The restaurant’s décor was very 1970’s with wood, browns, yellows and oranges. We were led to our table that was in the middle of the room. It was a four person table, but there were only two looming chairs that were perpendicular to each other. I

t seemed like both of us were considering asking for a different table, but neither spoke up. I have a thing about the feng shui of wherever I sit, but noticed we’d have a great view of everyone else. There was a birthday party going on in front of us, and there were possibly cute guys.

The silver-haired owner pulled both of our chairs out for us. I always get weirded out when people pull your chair like three feet from the table (which he did). I worry that I’ll have to scoot the chair myself, but, alas, that never happened.

Boi told me his horror stories about being an exchange student in Switzerland, but it was a happy ending—he ended up with a normal family for the last few months. We also talked about clothes, food, the gym, a hint of politics, and penis size. Boi was all right. I like sharp guys.

The cheese fondue wasn’t warm enough. The tiny votive candle underneath it was only for decoration, I feared.

After we’d been finished eating for twenty minutes, the waitress came by and asked us if we wanted more cheese. Her accent was so heavy that she said it five times before we understood.

“Tiffany?”

Boi left the decision to me. I only wanted more cheese because then it would be hot, but then we couldn’t get chocolate fondue.

“Chocolate fondue,” I said practically salivating.

When it came, the heavily-accented woman took two marshmallows, swirled them around in our chocolate and placed them on each of our plates. She had already done this when we got our cheese fondue. It seemed a bit redundant.

When we were almost done, the owner came around and inquired if we wanted some Grand Marnier or Kahlua. I thought he meant to mix in our fondue and that sounded good. However, this was not the case.

Shortly after, Boi turned on the switch for the plate under our fondue after I complained about the temperature. Somehow the owner caught this, swooped over to turn it off and muttered something unintelligible.

There was bizzaro birthday music playing intermittedly for the not-cute birthday boy. Boi and I were checking out the one hot b-day party guy who looked like Sean Austin Patrick, but cuter. Boi had been trying to decide if he was gay or not and decided not. Yay for my team!

"It's like we are the king and queen looking over our court," Boi observed.

I think I was a queen in a past life.