GE 1997-8 Season 4 Episode 20: Paulitorial
Note: this is not a transcript, but a working draft of the script, so there may be differences in the aired version.
PAUL:	As I mentioned to you last week, I am once again inclined towards amour.  
	But I've learned how unfamiliar with the rules of the modern Dating Game I am.

	Having eschewed conjugal activity following a disastrous marriage and several 
	... less than fulfilling relationships, I find that much has changed since 
	last I was "in the market."

	On Tuesday night last, I gave myself a scurrifungeing.  I lathered and slathered, 
	buffed and deodorized, trimmed and sanitized myself.  I had invited a lovely young 
	woman of my acquaintance, no need to name names, but you know who you are, Miss M., 
	to dine out.  Nothing extravagant, the supper special for two at the Malabar Gate.  
	You don't want to blow away your prospective love partner on your first ... engagement.

	There were probably portents galore of doom or failure that I missed in my "coming 
	out of dormancy" state.  If I'd only known where to look.

	On the night, Shea's Taxi was prompt, collecting me at 7:00.  And the driver 
	was familiar with my date's address.  Hint # 1.

	Pick up the date, and she sits up front with the cabby.  They chat all the way 
	to the restaurant.  The fare's on him.  Hint # 2.

	Arrive at 7:30.  To begin, savory onion bhagis and the Gate's fabulous cabbage 
	surprize, followed by a wee jook of lentil soup and a dollop of chickpea salad.  
	Then on to the main courses:  a delightful butter chicken; the incendiary shank 
	vindaloo; a double serving of Raj's famed eggplant cook-up; and roasted toasted 
	garlic and chili stuffed butterfly leg of lamb marinated in habanero sauce to 
	give it that extra zing.  Mmmmmm ...

	Hint # 3 next - we ate every last morsel.  I was "ausgeblausen", as they say in 
	Tutsing.  Blocked.  Crammed.  Jammed up and jelly tight.  Love, or even romance, 
	was no longer on my mind.  I was becoming tumescent in all the wrong places.
	I realized the gulab jamun and rice pudding desserts were a bad idea as we 
	waddled down to Hava Java for a couple of dark roasts.  Good thing neither 
	of us smoke, open flames were an invitation to disaster.

	Out on to the street we sailed, hailed a hack - surprize surprize, we got the 
	same driver, he must have been waiting for us, hint # 4 - and it was off to my place. 

	The advent of a serious case of the scutters filled the cab with a bouquet 
	that demanded "all windows open."

	And that was the good part.

	Because it was off to my place, all right.  To be dropped off by Miss M.  No, 
	she says, she wouldn't come in for an Ovaltine.  No, she couldn't possibly come 
	in and meet Mom.  She has to get home to her own Mom she says.  No, that's 
	okay, she'll get home on her own.  No, don't worry about it, she'll pay the 
	fare.  Thanks, she says, she had a lovely evening.

	Again she climbs into the front seat with the driver.  My first real date in 
	years, and the cabby is the one who scores.

	I remember when a coke, a smoke, and a puff bar would win you at least a 
	little tongue.  These days, even supper doesn't get you anywhere in the game 
	of love.  An early and relatively cheap lesson.