Once upon a time I was all gussied up and waiting in the kitchen for my gentleman caller to arrive. Dinner was sitting on the table, doused in a delicious tomato-based sauce. Yum. Of course it would be suicidal to even touch it. Murphy’s Law dictates that if you are wearing nice clothing within five feet of moving tomato sauce, some of it will land on you. But boy did it look good…
I would be careful…
And it would be a small piece. Just a little bit…
I was very careful… Ooh, did that drip? No… small piece at a time… bite it in one shot…
I brought the sauce-drenched biteful to my mouth with perfect delicacy. Everyone who has ever tried to teach me table manners would have been proud.
But I wasn’t think about that. I was almost holding my breath from the suspense. Would it drip? Would I succeed?
“She has a forkful – she’s moving it closer – almost at her mouth folks – she jabs, she bites, she chews! Aaaaand we have a swallow! Ye-ah!” The crowd roars.
Bravo! I did it! Take that, Murphy! It wasn’t even hard. Hey, let’s have another piece, why not.
The thrill – the danger – the adrenaline rush. This was life on the edge. This was living!
Yeah, I know, I need to get out more.
But with that dangerous maneuver completed for the night, I was ready for more risks, more excitement. So I pushed my luck yet again.
I walked on subway grates in my heels.
I felt the heel sliding in – did it catch? No, it came up smoothly. I wonder if I can place the heel tip right on the grill itself? It takes a little concentration – wow, this is wobbly but I think I got it – oops, slipped!
I think my date is saying something to me.
“Er, sorry, I missed that, can you repeat it?”
Yes, I felt truly alive that evening.
Which is why I’m in the market for more dating thrills and risky behavior. Any ideas?