...here’s what REALLY happened on my date with Hamburger.
Prior to the date I noticed my hands were looking a little “sketchy”. I did something I have never done in my ENTIRE life.
I bought press on nails. French manicure style.
Hey, they didn’t look that bad.
I met "Hamburger" at Abrusci’s. After exchanging pleasantries like, “Was that you that honked in the parking lot and nearly ran me over?” I reached for my water glass. The pinky nail on my right hand was missing.
I scanned the table, it wasn’t there. “No big deal”, I thought.
We chatted. He went through his routine, advising I was attractive and that my hair looked nice.
“No, it doesn’t” I said…running my fingers through my hair.
I reached for my wine and noticed the middle finger nail was missing.
“Shit” I thought.
There was obviously a fingernail SOMEWHERE in my hair.
I focused on his eyes like a heat seeking missile; maniacally following his gaze to see where it might pause…revealing the fingernail’s location.
I would have gone to the ladies room but knowing he would look at my butt as I departed seemed like a worse alternative.
We shared delicious Calamari. I reached for bread with my left hand.
You guessed it, ring finger nail…missing.
“This is ridiculous” I thought. He must have noticed by now.
We talked but I didn’t hear a word he said. All I could think about were…the nails. Where WERE they? I mean, did they disappear? Were they in my hair, attached to my sweater? WHERE?
The rest happened as described. He walked me to my car, after taking 10 steps turned around and said, “Show me what you’ve got” in terms of a kiss.
That didn’t work for me. I drove off, peeling the remaining seven (7) ridiculous affectations off my hands…