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"Which Friends character are you most like?" I ask my date. I'm a witty guy who uses humour as a disarming mechanism (and, some might say, as a tool to masking my crippling insecurity), so I'd most likely be Chandler. But I'm smart like a scientist, so I could also be Ross. Finally, I'm klutzy and adorable--just like a Golden Retriever--so there are certainly hints of Joey inside of me. "I'm basically Chandler, Ross, and Joey." I loudly proclaim this fact, because confidence is an aphrodisiac. Every six months, Staples performs an employee review on me and gives me anywhere between a $0.30 and $0.50 raise. This last review, my "upsells" were so high that the manager bumped me up $0.65. The trick is to target older customers and mislead them on their purchases. Thus, it only took me seven weeks to afford a pair of Toto elevator shoes, which added five more inches to my height. The problem is that the shoes don't do much once you sit down, so I've also been growing my hair out and using Axe molding clay to stand it straight up, which adds several more inches. All-in-all, I'm pretty close to my goal of adding another foot to my height. Women love it. "These are really great breadsticks," I complement the breadsticks. I keep eating them because, hey, free food. "Nom nom nom...hah!" She doesn't get it. Actually, I can't help but notice that my date sits a little straighter (and therefore higher) than me. As I try to fit an entire breadstick into my mouth and chew it without also biting my tongue, I carefully eyeball the top of her head. She follows my eyes and touches her hair. "What?" she asks. I squint and chew harder. Louder. Faster. I lean in. She smells like...cinnamon? No, nutmeg. It's hard to tell. My nose is stuffed up so I have to keep my mouth open while I chew. I suddenly imagine the ball of bread rolling around in my mouth like a load of dirty laundry and it makes me want to throw up. "I'll be right back," I jump up from my seat and jog to the restroom. When I get there, inspiration strikes me like a bolt of divine lightning. "Eureka!" I start balling up paper towels and stuffing them into the back of my pants--I think I fit half of a roll down there. Then I waddle back to the table and quietly take a seat. She looks mildly shocked. Or perturbed? I don't know, women are hard to read. "Are you...are you alright?" she asks. "Who? Me? Yeah. Of course." My rear end crunches softly on stiff brown paper towels while I use her forehead as a ruler and try to estimate the height that they have added to my position. Maybe an inch--not bad, not bad. I lean forward. "Do you think there's a difference between, like...anime and manga?" Suddenly a sharp pain hits my stomach. The breadsticks. They're interacting with the pot of lukewarm coffee I drank earlier. I wince as I feel a burning sensation running through my intestines like a G-scale model train. An "uh oh..." escapes my lips before I can stop it at the proverbial gates. I don't think I'm going to make it to the bathroom. But the paper towels. "...spaghettiooooos..." I force a smile. I imagine a beleaguered General Adama facing down a whole Cylon army with nothing but a handful of fighters and flak guns. He meditates on the coming battle before finally saying, Alright, here goes nothing, Colonel Tigh. I close my eyes, hesitantly relax my rear end, and immediately feel a warm burbling rise up between my legs, just like I sat down in a pool of sun-baked mud or bread dough. The sensation persists for what feels like an eternity--the duration of which I am entirely silent. When it ends--mercifully--I let out a soft sigh. When I open my eyes, I realize something very strange: I have risen another inch or so and am now looking slightly downward at my date. It is the most shocking and beautiful thing I could ever conceive of. They say, "When god closes a door, he opens a window." I don't believe in god, but if I did, I'd swear he was with me that day.
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Aug 16, 2014 08:13
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| # ¿ Apr 25, 2024 12:48 |
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