Soggy tots

A woman named Irene took me out on a date. Blowfish Glade was this dive with heavenly tater tots, at least that's what she told me. She ordered a plate for both of us, and I couldn't make myself eat the soggy potato puffs. I told her they must have been cooked for yesterday's brunchgoers. She just ordered me another beer and kept shoveling tots covered in Worcestershire sauce into that lovely mouth of hers. Even in a dream, the rest of the night was a cloud of barely remembered bad decisions. Maybe it was a dream withing a dream. I don't know. All I'm sure of is that I still feel like I was taken advantage of, even if it was all in my subconscious.