After 120 pages and still going strong, it is clear that this thread cannot be hijacked, so please permit me this true story.
Many years ago, I was relaxing at one of London's finest dining establishments, the type that don't print prices on their menu. I felt elegant in my borrowed tuxedo as did my partner, Fiona, a sultry looking brunette who had ended her shift the previous night on my lap.
The background sound of a Russian violinist added to the ambience, as did the exquisite furniture and expensive floral arrangements. The menu, which we were now pondering, presented a dilemma. I had put last night's tab at the gentleman's club, a hefty $63, on my credit card, leaving me with only $137. A $200 limit was about the most I could get at the time - God how I long for those days.
I turned to Fiona who was now fondling the violinist's crotch. He responded by abandoning a slow Mozart fugue and launching into a frenetic rendition of Rimsky-Korsakoff's "Flight of the Bumble Bee".
"Fiona, darling, what do I have to promise you in the future so that you will now be willing to lend me d dollars, such that (p1-p0)>=d, where p0 is $137 and p1 will be the likely bill, including tip, for this evening's dinner?"
I realized that I had left myself open by including the ">" sign in the equation, but under no circumstance did I want her to feel obligated - I did invite her after all.
As the fiddler hobbled away, she looked at me lustfully.
"But p1 is an unknown," she murmured, her lips pouting.
I could hardly suppress the feelings of admiration that were welling up inside of me. Finally I had met a woman worthy of my intellectual companionship.
Did we end up staying for dinner? Am I still together with Fiona? I'll let you know on p. 220.
Many years ago, I was relaxing at one of London's finest dining establishments, the type that don't print prices on their menu. I felt elegant in my borrowed tuxedo as did my partner, Fiona, a sultry looking brunette who had ended her shift the previous night on my lap.
The background sound of a Russian violinist added to the ambience, as did the exquisite furniture and expensive floral arrangements. The menu, which we were now pondering, presented a dilemma. I had put last night's tab at the gentleman's club, a hefty $63, on my credit card, leaving me with only $137. A $200 limit was about the most I could get at the time - God how I long for those days.
I turned to Fiona who was now fondling the violinist's crotch. He responded by abandoning a slow Mozart fugue and launching into a frenetic rendition of Rimsky-Korsakoff's "Flight of the Bumble Bee".
"Fiona, darling, what do I have to promise you in the future so that you will now be willing to lend me d dollars, such that (p1-p0)>=d, where p0 is $137 and p1 will be the likely bill, including tip, for this evening's dinner?"
I realized that I had left myself open by including the ">" sign in the equation, but under no circumstance did I want her to feel obligated - I did invite her after all.
As the fiddler hobbled away, she looked at me lustfully.
"But p1 is an unknown," she murmured, her lips pouting.
I could hardly suppress the feelings of admiration that were welling up inside of me. Finally I had met a woman worthy of my intellectual companionship.
Did we end up staying for dinner? Am I still together with Fiona? I'll let you know on p. 220.
