Third date time hanging out together. High hopes.
True story.
So we go to dinner and a couple drinks. Bueno. Go back to her place not far from my house in McKinney. Perfect.
She takes the initiative. Sets the mood. Color me desperate horny intrigued.
Not big on baths, but what the hey. She's hot. Warm-ish water. Bubbles. Candles on the tub. Music in the background.
Game on.
Shit does indeed happen ...
Pretty quickly, the perfectly heated water begins deteriorating to luke-warm. No biggie. Add more hot wa ... what the what? Out of hot water.
Just when I'm convinced body heat will solve the problem, the song on the iPod thingamajiggy is one of those that somehow was recorded in Decibel 100 instead of Decibel 50. Literally, pictures on the wall are shaking. Guess who gets to get out and adjust the volume? Ever tried to look cool getting out of a bath tub? With bubbles on your butt? Out of not-so-hot water? Yeah, it ain't pretty.
Music down, back in the tub. Holy hell!
Instead of closing the door shut, I closed it not-quite-all-the-way shut. And who wedges in? Her cat. And he/she/it's suddenly perched on the side of the tub, lapping a refreshing drink of water from where I sit.
Um, okay. Still salvageable. I'll just lean her back - like so - and we'll eventually still get to where we're going.
Fire!!!
Or, perhaps skunk?!!!! I dunno, but something awful suddenly permeates the air. Smells like Tony Siragusa's sweaty crotch ladled with the Devil's vomit. I'm talking gross. Realllllllly gross.
"My hair!" she screams.
Sure enough. On fire. From a candle.
No one was injured in the making of this disastrous date. But a mood was certainly harpooned.
Another date? Stay tuned.
