Margaret called me this morning, and asked me if I wanted to go for lunch so we could "talk". Now the phrase "can we talk?" should be reserved and used as sparingly as the phrase "please castrate me". I asked her where she wanted to meet, and she mentioned a little coffee shop within walking distance of my place. The conspiracy theorist in me thought "she thinks you won't be in any condition to drive home afterwards ..."
Anyway, I spent the morning puttering around the workshop and reconciling my accounts payable pile. Around 11:30 I put on my jacket and walked down to meet Margaret. She wasn't there so I ordered a coffee and a ham and cheese sandwich and picked a table where my back wasn't facing the door.
A few minutes later she came in, looking flushed and happy. She waved at me and I waved back. She came over, I stood up to give her a peck on the cheek, but she turned her head and I got to to lay on a decent smooch. After putting her jacket on the back of her chair Margaret went and ordered a chai tea latte (I think that's how it's spelt) and a corn dog.
She sat down, and reached over to hold my hand. I gave her hand a little squeeze. "John" she paused and took a bite of the dog, "We need to talk." I think my face blanched a little. They say women smell fear the same way dogs do. I would have crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair, but Margaret had hold of my hand and tightened her grip.
"John, it's about my lamp."
I breathed a sigh of relief ... I would get out of this in one piece (unlike her unfortunate lamp).
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