Paris: He's almost here, I'm not dressed, my makeup's not done, and I haven't gone through the Zagat yet to pick out a restaurant.
Rory: Why don't you just let him pick out the restaurant?
Paris: What if he doesn't have a Zagat?
Rory: Well, then he'll wing it.
Paris: Wing it? How come other girls get planned out dinners? Flowers, candy, rose petals thrown on the floors, and I get wing it?
Rory: Well, you don't know that you've got wing it.
Paris: No, I do. I've got wing it. I can't do this.
Rory: What?
Paris: Date. I can't date. I'm not genetically set up for it.
Rory: Not true.
Paris: 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?