Monday, July 25, 2011
An excerpt from something I am working on. CHICK LIT.
Date # 76 and #77, with the same man, Seth, lead to an important discovery. On our second date, which we had because the first one was such a success, he took me to a reunion concert of The Guess Who. Not really my generation of music, but fantastic nonetheless. Since we got along like gangbusters, I agreed to a second date and he agreed to cook me dinner. After almost eighty dates, no man had ever offered to cook me dinner, so I jumped at the chance. Dinner was wonderful. He baked the feathers off a chicken. Since my mom is a Martha Stewart fan, I knew right away that he was using her recipe for buttermilk baked chicken. I also noticed a Martha cookbook on the bookshelf.
I drank lots of white wine and gingerale, a great combo with baked chicken. I excused myself to use the bathroom before dessert was brought out, which he informed me was strawberry shortcake. Dinner and dessert? I almost had an orgasm right there.
The bathroom, blue and orange, with a plastic shower curtain was your standard bachelor pad lavatory. And there it was before me. The all-knowing medicine cabinet. The crystal ball of relationships. It beckoned me. It promised me riches of gold and a fountain of information. He had Flintstones vitamin, along with unscented shaving cream for sensitive skin, toothpaste for sensitive teeth, and Old Spice aftershave. Nothing out of the ordinary, or so I thought. I opened the Flintstones vitamins. I felt like a Wilma fix, and low and behold, inside the Flintstones bottle was a string of glow-in-the-dark anal beads! I made an excuse about cramps and left. And since then I’ve always looked in medicine cabinets.