Mating Ritual
by Bill Tope
She opened the
door, then stopped. "Hi,
Mark," she greeted the lead singer
of the
band she'd heard two nights ago at the
tavern. Why was he here?
She had been introduced to him that
evening, but he hadn't seemed
particularly
taken with her; she had perceived no
chemistry between the two of them, on
either side. He had seemed too taken
with himself by half, she thought.
She opened the door wider. He
stepped
inside. "Uh," she said, "what's
happening?"
His face was a picture of studied
indifference.
"Thought I'd check you out," he
muttered.
She blinked. "Check me out?"
she repeated.
"I don't know what you mean?"
He looked
haughty, she thought, even disdainful.
He scowled, "We're on a break from
band practice," he told her as if
that
explained everything. Finally she
asked
him, "What is it you want, Mark? Why
are
you here?" She felt clueless.
"You know why I'm here," he
asserted
wolfishly. "Band practice ain't goin'
good,
so I thought I'd stop by and bone
you." He
grinned smugly. "Oh, Mark," she
said
sardonically, "you make it sound
like such
a sweet, loving, meaningful experience.
Really earth-shaking," she concluded,
rolling her eyes. He frowned.
"Look, Elaine," he said
impatiently, "I didn't
come her to be..." She interrupted
him to
say, "Elaine! My name is Molly!"
This
brought him up short. "Before you 'bone'
me,
would it be asking too much to get my
name
right?" She glared at him
defiantly.
He thought about that for a moment, then
asked, "Does this mean you won't
sleep
with me? "It does," she
said decisively.
"I got some smack," he told her,
trying to
sweeten the deal. "I am the lead
singer,"
he asserted desperately.
"Nope." But she sought to
soften the blow:
"Mark," she said, "Don't
feel bad." He
stared at her. "I mean, despite the
fact that I
won't have sex with you, I want you to
know
that you've met all my expectations."
He
grinned pompously. "I knew that,"
he
said, then strutted back out the door.
Orininally
published in Little Old Lady Comedy |
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