As more moisture continued on its merry, inevitable way down the side of his head, it seemed he was doing more dabbing than eating.  He was positive that if prawns could laugh, the remaining ones were most assuredly laughing up a storm right now.  Anton attempted to answer her question, while just barely suppressing a cough.  “No, not really.  She usually left the meats to me, whether I cooked it on the stove, in the oven, or on a grill.”  He laughed at the memory and image it conveyed.  “Y’know, man and meat,” he stated with another chuckle.  Although this time, he threw in a few caveman noises for added effect.<br/><br/>He had to agree with her on the asbestos, and he noticed how he matched her glass-for-glass where the water and wine were concerned.  “Not a bad idea, Stella,” he agreed with a healthy sip from his wine glass.<br/><br/>Two glow-in-the-dark-orange, evil prawns remained.  And what was this?  Holy crap, he was running out of salad, steak and rice!  Well, with his mouth already resembling a disco inferno, he plowed on, refusing to be bested by meager shellfish.  Correction: Ass-kickingly hot, meager shellfish.  Besides, Stella appeared to be managing, and he thought she was a true trooper in dealing with the overabundance of heat.<br/><br/>The pair of felines, of course, were totally ignorant to their respective owners’ suffering.  That, and they obviously didn’t care, as they continued to groove on each other.  This instantly reminded him of a song from yesteryear,<i>I Only Have Eyes For You </i>by The Flamingos.  So now Anton knew of two coma-inducing remedies for Licorice: Catnip and Tesla.<br/><br/>“Nah, I’m pretty clear this week,” he replied to her question about photoshoots.  “Though I would imagine they’re getting ready to ramp up a few shoots, what with the fall and winter catalogs to consider.”  The steak was gone.  Salad kaput.  All that now remained was one lonesome prawn and a forkful of rice.  And one virginal napkin.