The Great Shrimp Disaster
In a sunny little village in the South of Citroble, lived Grandma CitroMamour — the greatest expert in love and romantic wisdom. Her grandson, CitroBen — a young, modern lemon, confident yet sometimes a little too sure of himself — was finally about to go on his very first date.
CitroBen — a stylish and confident lemon!
"Ben, my darling, don’t forget to buy a bouquet of flowers for your lady!" said Grandma, adjusting her round glasses.
"Grandma, seriously? Nobody does that anymore. It’s so outdated," replied CitroBen, rolling his eyes.
"Outdated?!" Grandma gasped. "In my day, a man who forgot flowers would pick tulips from the town gardens rather than show up empty-handed!"
"Yeah, well... that was back then. Today, we send rose emojis — it’s basically the same thing."
Grandma raised her eyebrow so high that for a moment, CitroBen thought it might float away.
"An emoji, you say? Why don’t you send her a GIF of a dinner instead of actually inviting her out to eat?"
"No, no, it’s just... modern girls don’t expect flowers anymore," CitroBen insisted.
Grandma sighed deeply, full of centuries of wisdom, but let him leave — without his bouquet.
"Grandma, seriously? Nobody does that anymore. It’s so outdated," replied CitroBen, rolling his eyes.
"Outdated?!" Grandma gasped. "In my day, a man who forgot flowers would pick tulips from the town gardens rather than show up empty-handed!"
"Yeah, well... that was back then. Today, we send rose emojis — it’s basically the same thing."
Grandma raised her eyebrow so high that for a moment, CitroBen thought it might float away.
"An emoji, you say? Why don’t you send her a GIF of a dinner instead of actually inviting her out to eat?"
"No, no, it’s just... modern girls don’t expect flowers anymore," CitroBen insisted.
Grandma sighed deeply, full of centuries of wisdom, but let him leave — without his bouquet.
The First Date Fiasco: A Lemon Adrift in Troubled Waters
CitroBen, feeling confident with his polished look and modern lemon attitude, arrived at the restaurant where CitroLéa — a charming, sparkling citronette — was waiting for him. He sat across from her, ready to dazzle with his natural charisma. Everything was going smoothly... until the fateful moment of ordering.
"So, what are you having?" CitroBen asked casually.
"Oh, I love seafood! I’ll have the shrimp," CitroLéa said enthusiastically.
"Ah," CitroBen uttered, visibly wilting.
An awkward silence settled between them.
"Is something wrong?" CitroLéa asked, intrigued.
"Uh... no, it’s just that..." He hesitated, then theatrically declared, "Shrimps are TRAITORS."
CitroLéa blinked, completely puzzled.
"Excuse me?"
"They eat everything they find at the bottom of the ocean. They’re like... rats of the sea!"
CitroLéa, who was just about to place her order, slowly put her menu down.
"Are you telling me that my favorite dish is... an aquatic rat?"
CitroBen realized too late he had just insulted her meal head-on. He scrambled to recover.
"No, no, not at all! Well... maybe just a little... but of course, you can eat whatever you want!"
But CitroLéa was now looking at him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.
"And what exactly is your problem with shrimp?" she asked, half-curious, half-suspicious.
In a panic, CitroBen tried to make a joke:
"Let’s just say... it’s personal. A distant lemon ancestor of mine once fell victim to a poorly mixed shrimp-cocktail tragedy. A dark chapter in family history."
CitroLéa burst out laughing... but quickly regained her composure.
"So, if we have dinner together, should I avoid shrimp?" she asked, part teasing, part serious.
"No, no! Eat whatever you like!" CitroBen said, desperately trying to salvage the evening.
But the damage was done.
Throughout the evening, CitroLéa kept throwing suspicious glances at her plate, as if she were committing a crime by enjoying her shrimp.
The atmosphere stayed awkwardly polite, and at the end of the night, she gave him a courteous smile... without mentioning a second date.
CitroBen, feeling confident with his polished look and modern lemon attitude, arrived at the restaurant where CitroLéa — a charming, sparkling citronette — was waiting for him. He sat across from her, ready to dazzle with his natural charisma. Everything was going smoothly... until the fateful moment of ordering.
"So, what are you having?" CitroBen asked casually.
"Oh, I love seafood! I’ll have the shrimp," CitroLéa said enthusiastically.
"Ah," CitroBen uttered, visibly wilting.
An awkward silence settled between them.
"Is something wrong?" CitroLéa asked, intrigued.
"Uh... no, it’s just that..." He hesitated, then theatrically declared, "Shrimps are TRAITORS."
CitroLéa blinked, completely puzzled.
"Excuse me?"
"They eat everything they find at the bottom of the ocean. They’re like... rats of the sea!"
CitroLéa, who was just about to place her order, slowly put her menu down.
"Are you telling me that my favorite dish is... an aquatic rat?"
CitroBen realized too late he had just insulted her meal head-on. He scrambled to recover.
"No, no, not at all! Well... maybe just a little... but of course, you can eat whatever you want!"
But CitroLéa was now looking at him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.
"And what exactly is your problem with shrimp?" she asked, half-curious, half-suspicious.
In a panic, CitroBen tried to make a joke:
"Let’s just say... it’s personal. A distant lemon ancestor of mine once fell victim to a poorly mixed shrimp-cocktail tragedy. A dark chapter in family history."
CitroLéa burst out laughing... but quickly regained her composure.
"So, if we have dinner together, should I avoid shrimp?" she asked, part teasing, part serious.
"No, no! Eat whatever you like!" CitroBen said, desperately trying to salvage the evening.
But the damage was done.
Throughout the evening, CitroLéa kept throwing suspicious glances at her plate, as if she were committing a crime by enjoying her shrimp.
The atmosphere stayed awkwardly polite, and at the end of the night, she gave him a courteous smile... without mentioning a second date.
The Legendary Debrief with Grandma CitroMamour
When CitroBen came home, Grandma CitroMamour was already waiting for him, wearing that look only grandmothers have — the one that says they already know everything.
"So, my little lemon, how did it go?" she asked, sipping her tea.
"Not great," CitroBen sighed.
"Hmm… and what exactly did you do?"
"Nothing serious… I just… maybe… suggested that shrimp are the rats of the sea and that her favorite dish was a culinary crime."
Grandma slowly put down her cup.
"By all the lemon trees in the world… You really said that to her?"
"It was a joke!" CitroBen protested.
"Yes, and I’m the Queen of England," Grandma retorted, exasperated.
She shook her head and tapped CitroBen’s phone.
"Call her and invite her to another date. And this time: no food critiques, no aquatic theories. Just a bouquet of flowers and a genuine compliment."
"But Grandma, she’ll say no..." CitroBen groaned.
"Women are much quicker to forgive a clumsy lemon than a lemon who gives up," Grandma replied with a wink.
The Second Chance and the Power of Roses
With a resigned sigh, CitroBen called CitroLéa. Against all odds, she agreed — on one condition.
"Promise me we won’t talk about the food chain this time."
CitroBen laughed and promised. This time, he arrived with a bouquet of red roses and a sincere smile.
"I just wanted to start this date without any debates about marine ecosystems.
Also, to apologize, I learned a fun fact about shrimp: they actually communicate… by farting. Isn’t that amazing?"
CitroLéa stared at him — and then burst out laughing.
"Alright, you’re officially forgiven.
But tonight, I choose the menu."
And so, thanks to Grandma CitroMamour — and a generous dose of humility — CitroBen finally had a truly successful first date.
Grandma’s Moral of the Story
When CitroBen came back home, Grandma was waiting on the sofa, tea in hand.
"Well?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You were right," CitroBen admitted.
"Of course I was right!" Grandma exclaimed. "I have 80 years of experience, my dear!
Now remember: any girl worth inviting out is worth bringing flowers for. Full stop."
And that’s how CitroBen learned that Grandma CitroMamour’s advice is worth far more than any modern dating guide.
When CitroBen came home, Grandma CitroMamour was already waiting for him, wearing that look only grandmothers have — the one that says they already know everything.
"So, my little lemon, how did it go?" she asked, sipping her tea.
"Not great," CitroBen sighed.
"Hmm… and what exactly did you do?"
"Nothing serious… I just… maybe… suggested that shrimp are the rats of the sea and that her favorite dish was a culinary crime."
Grandma slowly put down her cup.
"By all the lemon trees in the world… You really said that to her?"
"It was a joke!" CitroBen protested.
"Yes, and I’m the Queen of England," Grandma retorted, exasperated.
She shook her head and tapped CitroBen’s phone.
"Call her and invite her to another date. And this time: no food critiques, no aquatic theories. Just a bouquet of flowers and a genuine compliment."
"But Grandma, she’ll say no..." CitroBen groaned.
"Women are much quicker to forgive a clumsy lemon than a lemon who gives up," Grandma replied with a wink.
The Second Chance and the Power of Roses
With a resigned sigh, CitroBen called CitroLéa. Against all odds, she agreed — on one condition.
"Promise me we won’t talk about the food chain this time."
CitroBen laughed and promised. This time, he arrived with a bouquet of red roses and a sincere smile.
"I just wanted to start this date without any debates about marine ecosystems.
Also, to apologize, I learned a fun fact about shrimp: they actually communicate… by farting. Isn’t that amazing?"
CitroLéa stared at him — and then burst out laughing.
"Alright, you’re officially forgiven.
But tonight, I choose the menu."
And so, thanks to Grandma CitroMamour — and a generous dose of humility — CitroBen finally had a truly successful first date.
Grandma’s Moral of the Story
When CitroBen came back home, Grandma was waiting on the sofa, tea in hand.
"Well?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You were right," CitroBen admitted.
"Of course I was right!" Grandma exclaimed. "I have 80 years of experience, my dear!
Now remember: any girl worth inviting out is worth bringing flowers for. Full stop."
And that’s how CitroBen learned that Grandma CitroMamour’s advice is worth far more than any modern dating guide.
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