“No romantic lighting, please,” that’s what I told her. She was a knockout, but that’s what I told her. Sometimes I don’t care if you’re a knockout or not.
“Oh?” she asked, with her eyebrows raised, taking away the candle she had just placed on my table. “You don’t like romance?”
“I’m kind of sick of it to be honest with you.”
“I feel you there. But some romance is alright,” she said while shrugging her shoulders.
I looked at her and she wasn’t lying to me. She really is a knockout. And she has great posture. I love good posture.
“Okay, I guess you can leave it.”
Her face lit up and I did get a kick out of that. She had a great smile. I like it. I really like it some days.
She left the candle in the middle of my table and smiled at me. Then she twirled around and walked away.
I went back to trying to ignore her. I went back to my story. I really didn’t have time for romance, not even with her.
She walked back over with a plate with a piece of pie on it. “You want this? It’s extra.”
“I never say no to free food. Thank you.” I really was grateful for it.
She set the plate down next to the candle and she smiled at me again. I almost smiled back.
It was a good pie. And I ain’t just saying that because a pretty lady dropped it off. I ain’t that type of guy, if you know what I mean. I ain’t the kind of guy to like a pie just because a pretty lady brought it to me. I really aint. I promise.
I almost smiled while I ate that pie but she was watching me. So I didn’t. I kept frowning.
She kept watching me, though, and I couldn’t concentrate for shit. I wanted to tell her to stop starring. I wanted to tell her that I had work to do tonight. I’m pretty sure I had work I was going to do, anyway.
And then, for no reason at all, I held my finger over the little flame in the candle and looked right at her.
She cocked her head to the side for a moment before shouting, “Hey! What are you doing??”
And then, in a big hurry, she ran over to me and pulled my hand away. “What’re you, crazy?!”
She wasn’t smiling anymore, but I was smiling like a madman now. I probably really was crazy at the moment.
“What’s the big idea?” she said, very serious, very concerned.
“I only wanted to get a rise out of you. Make you stop smiling at me like a goof all the time.”
“I don’t smile at you,” she said, her forehead getting all wrinkly and her face getting pink.
“Sure you don’t, doll.”
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that, don’t you?”
“And you’re a real piece of free pie.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she folded her arms in front of her chest. I will admit, she had a big chest. She really did. That’s not why I liked her, though. I liked her because she had good posture even with that giant chest pulling her forward. How she did it, I don’t know, but I was impressed by it. I mean, most ladies with a chest that big have horrible posture. And they can’t hardly exercise because of their big breasts and whatnot. But she was very fit. Very, very fit.
“You’re a kind lady. That’s all.”
“You put your finger over a flame because I am kind?? I don’t get you.”
I nodded to the candle, “that ain’t hardly a flame. I reckon I could leave my finger over that flame for a good ten minutes before pulling it away.”
“Now why would you do a thing like that??”
“I’m not saying that I would, I’m saying that I could. You follow?”
“You’re one weird character.”
“And you have great posture,” I said, with a smirk.
“Thank you?” she asked, confused.
“Very welcome, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ‘ma’am’. I don’t like that.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“Alright, smartass. But cut it out. Honestly. Cut it out.”
I really wanted to say it again, but even a degenerate like me knows when to stop. I don’t always know when to stop, I’ll admit that much. But tonight I did. People don’t get my humor. They really don’t.
“I’ll stop. I pinky-promise.”
“I’ll take your pinky if you lie to me.”
“All I do is lie to you, babe.”
“‘Babe??’”
“Sorry,” I said, nervously. “It slipped out.”
“I am no one’s ‘babe’.”
“I know, babe.”
“Gimme that pie back.”
“Can’t. It’s making a turd in here right now.” I rubbed my belly.
“Gross.”
“It’s only natural, ma’am.”
“You’re pushing it.”
“Shouldn’t you be working?”
“I am.”
“Harassing me ain’t working, doll.”
“Don’t call me ‘doll’.”
“Yes . . . your highness.” I pretended to bow to her in my chair.
She rolled her eyes and finally walked away. I took a deep breath. I didn’t even realize I was holding it. I must’ve gone five minutes without breathing, I swear that’s true. My heart was going off the rails. It was beating so fast. It was like I had just done a 100 yard sprint.
She tried not to look at me, and she was doing a pretty good job at it. I still couldn’t concentrate, though. Sometimes I can’t. It doesn’t bother me, though. I just sit there and look pretty, while trying to ignore her trying to ignore me.
I suppose this could’ve been romantic if I would’ve let it. I am just sick of romance, that’s all. Pretty sick of it. And I am lousy at it, too. I always care too much or not enough. That’s the way it seems to go, doesn’t it? You either care too much about someone who doesn’t really care about you, or you don’t care enough about someone who cares too much about you. That’s the way it always goes, doesn’t it? . . . Well, that’s how it always goes for me. I'm lousy at romance. I really am.
CH 11/30/24
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