I was staring at my computer screen trying to think up a
logo for my new client, Cupcake Cuties, when the door bell rang. Harper and Poppi didn’t make a sound but ran
to the living room and jumped on the back of the sofa so they could look out
the window at the front porch.
They eagerly started wagging their donut tails, so I
suspected it was my good friend Belinda. It was quite a surprise to open the
door, therefore, and find Jason Krepsky on the other side. He held his police
cap in his hand and he had a bad case of hat hair. I couldn’t help smiling when
I saw it. He always looked so clean cut and meticulous in his police uniform.
It was good to see he wasn’t perfect.
He saw my smile and smiled back. “Um, I came to
apologize,” he said. “You were obviously upset yesterday, and I laughed at you.
Let me buy you dinner to make it up to you.”
“Dinner?” I gaped.
“Um, you like pizza, right? We could just pop over to
Casinetti’s and grab a bite when I get off duty if you’re not busy.” He twisted
the cap in his hand.
“Okay,” I answered when I’d recovered from my
astonishment. “Maybe we could go to Cupcake Cuties afterwards if you don’t
mind. I’m working on a logo for them and could use some inspiration.”
The radio in his patrol car squawked. “Sounds good! I’ve
got to go, but I’ll pick you up at 6:30.”
I spent the rest of the afternoon designing and
discarding ideas for my new client. The basenjis moved from one sunspot to
another in my office as I irritably cursed my lack of progress.
Belinda called once and I was happy for the
interruption. At 6:30 Jason arrived to
pick me up. Three disastrous hours
later, Belinda called again.
“How did it go with Jason?” she greeted me.
“Red, red wine,
High, high heels,
Blue, blue, bruises,” I warbled into the phone.
“Did you just sing a really bad version of a UB40 song
when I asked you how your date went?” Belinda demanded.
“It wasn’t really a date,” I replied skipping over my
oldest friend’s critique of my singing. “We only went out to Casinetti’s for
pizza.”
“And red, red wine apparently. Isn’t that usually called
a date?” Belinda sighed. “I cannot
believe you messed up your first date with Jason.”
“Again—not really a date,” I feebly protested. “And I
wouldn’t have messed it up if I hadn’t let you convince me to wear those damn
heels!” Belinda was a petite red-head who never left her house without high
heels. Sometimes I secretly believed she even wore them in the shower.
“If it wasn’t a date why were you wearing high heels?”
she reasoned.
“Because you convinced me that heels would make me look
thinner. That’s why I was wearing the heels!” I squarely put the blame back on
Belinda. At 5’6” I didn’t need the heels for height, but I’m self-conscious
about the twenty pounds I’m trying to lose. “I probably did look thinner but
only because I was horizontal!”
“You and Jason got horizontal?” Belinda shrieked! “Tell me
all about it!”
“Jason did not get horizontal! Only I did when I fell off
the heels leaving the restaurant!” Now it was my turn to sigh as I heard
Belinda’s giggle.
“How much wine did you have anyway?” Belinda stopped
giggling long enough to ask.
“Just a couple of glasses and I would have been fine but
. . .” I started to whine.
“Yeah, but for the
heels which are entirely my fault. I know, I know. How bad was it?” Belinda
tried to sound sympathetic.
“You know that ugly little fountain Joey brought back
from Italy last summer and insisted on putting in lobby?” I asked.
“The one with the centaur and whatever the heck those
half naked creatures are supposed to be? That thing is an affront to art
everywhere!” Belinda, who had attended The Art Institute of New York, abhorred
the fountain.
“Yeah, well, it’s not affronting anyone anymore. I broke
an arm off one of the nymphs when I fell into it and neutered the centaur when
I tried to get up,” I replied nearly giggling myself.
“So compared to your last date with Wilson the Whiner,” my best friend started.
“It wasn’t so too bad,” we both finished.
