[This cannot be real, Steve can't be a real person. He must be being punked on one of those reality tv shows where an actor is portraying the world's most perfect guy, and eventually everyone will jump out and yell sucker at him for believing it.]

So what? I need to be on your couch and ask you to paint me like one of your French girls?

[He's laughing now, but not in a cruel way, just genuinely amused.]

But, I mean, sure... if that's your ideal date, I'll sit for you when we actually do this thing. Which-- are you going to ask me on a concrete date with a day assigned to it, or what?