For this date, I took out a gal with whom I've had a few dates and we ended up at a Japanese barbecue place. If you've never been to one, its basically a restaurant where in you're seated at a table with a mini barbecue sunken in to the center of the table.
Of course, Japanese barbecue can't be enjoyed without a little sake. On this particular night, I really wanted to enjoy the meal, so I over indulged a bit.
The restaurant wasn't very packed, but I know it's a hot spot for Hamsters, so it's one of my favorites and tonight's scenery was a mix of patrons. At the table in front of me was a herd of heffers gladly grazing on beef. Damn cannibals. To the right of them was a tatted guy, his young wife and three small kids ranging from 15-10 years old, all boys. Mullets and rattails be damned, these kids were grubbing good.
To my right was a table of three hotties, probably coffee shop girls. The most notable was a gal with a white tank top with spaghetti straps and a rack that was suitable only for porn movies. We'll call her "Melanie." This hoochy had super long hair that was adorned with extensions and with tight short-shorts, high heels and fake eye lashes, she was quite an eye catcher. She had no bra underneath and it looked like she was smuggling two puppies....you could tell because of their cute pink noses peaking out ever so slightly from her thin shirt. She certainly caught my eye and the eye of my date, who couldn't help but get catty with her comments.
After a couple of bottles, the Japanese voice impressions started. At one point, my date asked me "do you find that attractive?" This is a trap, guys, in case you didn't already know. Nevertheless, my tactic is to always diffuse serious questions with humor and to dodge the question. It's worked for me for decades, as if my single status wasn't proof enough (sarcasm). I retorted in my best Japanese voice impersonation "I rike dat gurl. She beddy, beddy pletty. But I don't rike big merrons. I rike a natulal gurl because big merron cannot fit in my mouf." Her catty comments subdued after a few slaps, so the sake and barbecue meal continued.
At the end of the meal, we were provided with the restaurant's signature dessert: make-it-yourself S'Mores. I hadn't made a S'More since puberty, which was ironic because at that time, I had just discovered that "happy feeling" in my pants for the first time. Now, decades later, I was experiencing Deja Vu. Maybe it's the Marshmallows that provide this form of arousal. I'll have to keep some by my bed, I noted, but I digress.
Nevertheless, with liquid courage, I decided to wing it. I skewered the Marshmallow and begin baking it over the open flame. My date, who was struggling to keep my eyes on her was bragging about her own ample shirt stuffers and admittedly, I was a bit distracted. Once I began to smell smoke, I realized my Marshmallow was on fire. Naturally, I shook the skewer violently attempting to blow it out. Instead, it catapulted over to the hoochy's table where it landed right on the torso of Melanie. In an instant, the ends of her Aquanet-coated extensions began to burn and everyone jumped up.
I tried to blow out the smoking hair before I realized how it looked to my date, who was watching with great disdain. Melanie's girlfriends were frantic and one repeatedly proclaimed "what should I do? What should I do?" Without thinking, I muttered "get some water." The hoochy, being the rocket scientist she surely was, threw a whole glass of water at Melanie's chest.
Now, perhaps subconsciously I knew what would happen when you apply water to a t-shirt of a large chested woman, but in my head, water seemed logical. By this time, the wait staff was gathered around and one of them handed me a towel, with which I proceeded to pat down Melanie. At this point, I don't know who was hotter, Melanie of me, but I suddenly became aware of my surroundings.
The little boys across for this show were stunned, as if this was the first set of boobies they had ever seen. The heffers were hysterical with laughter as if they enjoyed this poor young lady's misfortunate. My date, on the other hand, gave me a look I could only interpret to mean "you planned this."
I apologized to Melanie profusely and handed her my card, offering to pay for all damages. I hope she calls, cause I'd certainly like to hand her the check personally, perhaps over dinner (so long as there's no open flame at the table.)
Somehow, I doubt I'll be hearing from Melanie...or my date...ever again.
Of course, Japanese barbecue can't be enjoyed without a little sake. On this particular night, I really wanted to enjoy the meal, so I over indulged a bit.
The restaurant wasn't very packed, but I know it's a hot spot for Hamsters, so it's one of my favorites and tonight's scenery was a mix of patrons. At the table in front of me was a herd of heffers gladly grazing on beef. Damn cannibals. To the right of them was a tatted guy, his young wife and three small kids ranging from 15-10 years old, all boys. Mullets and rattails be damned, these kids were grubbing good.
To my right was a table of three hotties, probably coffee shop girls. The most notable was a gal with a white tank top with spaghetti straps and a rack that was suitable only for porn movies. We'll call her "Melanie." This hoochy had super long hair that was adorned with extensions and with tight short-shorts, high heels and fake eye lashes, she was quite an eye catcher. She had no bra underneath and it looked like she was smuggling two puppies....you could tell because of their cute pink noses peaking out ever so slightly from her thin shirt. She certainly caught my eye and the eye of my date, who couldn't help but get catty with her comments.
After a couple of bottles, the Japanese voice impressions started. At one point, my date asked me "do you find that attractive?" This is a trap, guys, in case you didn't already know. Nevertheless, my tactic is to always diffuse serious questions with humor and to dodge the question. It's worked for me for decades, as if my single status wasn't proof enough (sarcasm). I retorted in my best Japanese voice impersonation "I rike dat gurl. She beddy, beddy pletty. But I don't rike big merrons. I rike a natulal gurl because big merron cannot fit in my mouf." Her catty comments subdued after a few slaps, so the sake and barbecue meal continued.
At the end of the meal, we were provided with the restaurant's signature dessert: make-it-yourself S'Mores. I hadn't made a S'More since puberty, which was ironic because at that time, I had just discovered that "happy feeling" in my pants for the first time. Now, decades later, I was experiencing Deja Vu. Maybe it's the Marshmallows that provide this form of arousal. I'll have to keep some by my bed, I noted, but I digress.
Nevertheless, with liquid courage, I decided to wing it. I skewered the Marshmallow and begin baking it over the open flame. My date, who was struggling to keep my eyes on her was bragging about her own ample shirt stuffers and admittedly, I was a bit distracted. Once I began to smell smoke, I realized my Marshmallow was on fire. Naturally, I shook the skewer violently attempting to blow it out. Instead, it catapulted over to the hoochy's table where it landed right on the torso of Melanie. In an instant, the ends of her Aquanet-coated extensions began to burn and everyone jumped up.
I tried to blow out the smoking hair before I realized how it looked to my date, who was watching with great disdain. Melanie's girlfriends were frantic and one repeatedly proclaimed "what should I do? What should I do?" Without thinking, I muttered "get some water." The hoochy, being the rocket scientist she surely was, threw a whole glass of water at Melanie's chest.
Now, perhaps subconsciously I knew what would happen when you apply water to a t-shirt of a large chested woman, but in my head, water seemed logical. By this time, the wait staff was gathered around and one of them handed me a towel, with which I proceeded to pat down Melanie. At this point, I don't know who was hotter, Melanie of me, but I suddenly became aware of my surroundings.
The little boys across for this show were stunned, as if this was the first set of boobies they had ever seen. The heffers were hysterical with laughter as if they enjoyed this poor young lady's misfortunate. My date, on the other hand, gave me a look I could only interpret to mean "you planned this."
I apologized to Melanie profusely and handed her my card, offering to pay for all damages. I hope she calls, cause I'd certainly like to hand her the check personally, perhaps over dinner (so long as there's no open flame at the table.)
Somehow, I doubt I'll be hearing from Melanie...or my date...ever again.
Your posts are pretty funny and well written. Keep writing. I hope you find what you are looking for.
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