'[describing her dream] I'm lying in bed and I'm sleeping and I'm wearing this fabulous nightgown, and like thirty alarm clocks go off, and so I get out of bed and I walk downstairs, and there, standing in the kitchen, is Luke!
I get no pleasure out of the prospect or the preparation. I’m covered in hives, I’ve showered four times, and for what? Some guy who doesn’t even have the brains to buy a Zagat so we don’t wind up in a restaurant that’s really just a front for a cocaine laundering ring?