After a tedious, but victorious day in court, Prosecutor Manfred von Karma was hungry, as was his daughter Franziska, who had spent the day watching her father win. "Where shall we eat?" von Karma asked his famished daughter.
"Father, my friends told me about this French restaurant, called Tres Bien. They say it is very fancy." Franziska suggested.
"No, Franziska. French cuisine is all about imperfection. And you know I cannot stand imperfection!" von Karma said angrily, his gray eyes flashing.
"Father, you have not even eaten there yet!" Franziska shot back. She cracked her whip. "My friends say that Tres Bien literally translates into 'Very Good'. So it must be very good!" Franziska said. She cracked her whip again, just to be more dramatic.
"Very well, Franziska. But it must be perfect, and it must meet my standards!" von Karma told his daughter. "It must be every bit as good as you say it is! So where did you say this 'Very Good' restaurant is?" he asked her. Well, that was good enough for Franziska. She told the address to her father.
They drove to the restaurant quickly, as there was no traffic—it was a Saturday afternoon, and most people in town were going about their business in the mall—buying back-to-school clothes, most likely. "Franziska, this restaurant better be good," grumbled von Karma.
At last, they arrived. It was a pink restaurant, and von Karma hated pink, making him want to exit already. According to von Karma, pink was the very start of imperfection—though it did not make any sense—thus, he made Franziska wear blue, no matter how many times Franziska objected.
A large neon sign had been put up above the pink canopy. It said, Tres Bien. And just below it, there were a few words in dark red neon—Fancy French Cuisine for the Fine Feminine, it said. "Tsk tsk tsk, Franziska—it looks more imperfect than I had expected!" remarked von Karma.
"Let's just eat, Father." Franziska replied. She pushed open the glass door—which was lined with pink as well—and was greeted by a large man, about thirty-seven years of age. He wore a pink chef's hat and a matching pink apron. The man held a tiny green bottle labeled "Essence of Sandalwood". A lively red rose sat in his apron's pocket.
"Welcome to la Tres Bien! I am la Jean Armstrong!" the man introduced. "Please, have la seat!" he pointed to a table lined with pink lace, a vase sitting in the middle.
"Thank you," von Karma said. "I'll have the menu now."
"Of course, monsieur!" Jean Armstrong gave him a menu. "Would you like la bottle of sandalwood?" he offered von Karma, who shook his head and muttered, "Unacceptable…" repeatedly. So Jean turned to Franziska. "Ah! You are la girl!"
"Of course I am." Franziska replied. This man is a fool, Franziska thought. Doesn't he know that he's not supposed to mess with any von Karma! What a fool he is.
"Would you like la bottle…" Jean said. He brought out a new bottle, labeled "Essence of Juniper". "La bottle of juniper?"
"You fool!" von Karma roared. "Stop flirting with Franziska and come here." Jean gulped and went to von Karma. "I would like to order a lobster, and Franziska would like to order some salad. Now shoo! I expect nothing less than perfection!" he called after Jean scurried away.
A few minutes later, the food came. Franziska tasted her food. It tasted terrible. "Father, this tastes horrid!" Franziska complained.
von Karma tasted his lobster. "What is this junk!" he roared. "Jean Armstrong! Come here immediately! You dare call this junk food! It's far from good, let alone very good! Now give our money back and we will leave this restaurant immediately and eat somewhere else."
Gulping, Jean brought out the money Father had paid him. "T—Thank you for coming to la restaurant, monsieur, madame…" he said.
"You dare call this foolishly foolish piece of tomfoolery a restaurant! Fool!" Franziska spat at Jean. "We shall not return!"
And they did not.
Later...
"Papa, where is my whip?"