Klutzy Love (6 page)

It was the perfect occupation for her. She’d fit right in and happily give those little boys their first hard-on.

“Let me show you around. You’re going to love your instructor, Greg—he’s the best ever.” Barbie cooed.

We all stretched and were ready when Greg walked into the room. All the women stood up straighter and stuck out their chests and the men sucked in their bellies. I was an over-achiever. I did both.

“Class, stand in a straight line,” he commanded. He then pointed to a chubby older lady. She was maybe in her mid-fifties, and hadn’t dyed her hair in a very long time. She was going for the tight, curled perm look. My grandmother had the same look and it didn’t look good on her either. He brought her to the front of the room and asked gently, “Wha
t would you do if an assailant attacked you with a knife?”

The group jostled for a good position in line to watch the show. I’ll never forget the look on that poor woman’s face—terrified, red and slightly sweaty. All of a sudden she swung her arm way back and went for a sissy face slap. Super Greg quickly moved out of range. You could tell she was disappointed that she missed him; he placated her with sweet praise. “Good job. Now go back in line.”

Greg looked at me out of the corner of his eye. I took the opportunity to wink at him. He must have thought I was cute because he winked back. Guilt that I’d winked at Greg and heartache over Steve hit in unison.

Greg moved forward and then behind me. The next thing I knew I was flat on my back. He was a speedy devil. He said, “This is a move you use when the attacker comes at you from behind. Normally you would try to avoid that by turning toward the attacker, but that’s not always possible. Corny, turn around and show me what you would do,” Greg instructed as I got up off the floor. My butt hurt already. Cupcakes, here I come.

My unique
‘when men attack’
move came to my mind and I thought I had an ace up my sleeve. My brothers taught me this move at an early age—when I grew boobs. If I performed this move and successfully brought Greg to the ground, then maybe Steve would realize I could take care of myself. Of course, I didn’t have any practical experience using it—my brothers wouldn’t let me near them.

Per their instructions, I reached for his thumb and tried to bend it backwards. The next thing I knew I was flat on my back again. That was where I spent the majority of the class. I think I failed. Maybe I didn’t do it right.

An hour later the chubby lady and I could barely walk to our cars. She said, “My husband asked me to take this class. He wants to make sure I can take care of myself.”

“Your husband sounds like a great guy. I don’t know if Greg’s class is right for me. I might not come back. I thought I’d maybe meet a guy here, but no such luck.”

“I don’t know if you’re interested, but I met my husband through an online dating service.”

“Really, which one?”

“YouCupid.com is where we met. You should give it a try.”

“Thank you.” It worked well for her. I might give it a try if Steve didn’t call soon.

CHAPTER TWELVE

When I left the class, I felt pretty low. I thought a single layer chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and little colorful sprinkles would help my mood, but not my hips.

While in the store’s checkout line, I noticed an enormous selection of self-help books. I’d never been into meditation or homeopathic stuff, but a particular book caught my eye. It was called, ‘The 10 Steps to Happiness.’ It was only $3.99 and it was a small book in large-print letters. Could this book change my life? The self-defense course sure hadn’t. In the parking lot, I dipped my finger into the icing, while I thumbed through the ten amazing steps that would change my life forever.

Once home, I poured myself a jumbo-sized glass of milk and cut myself a huge slice of cake and sat down with my book. It was a great cake, moist and rich. Was it possible to have a love affair with a single layer chocolate cake? It wouldn’t hurt my feelings or forget to call. Okay, I ‘d gone a little wacko. A half hour later, I realized a book wouldn’t change my life. I needed to take charge and stop whining about missing Steve.

***

Normally I’d go to the gym on Saturday morning, but I’d had a pretty good workout the night before. I put a load of laundry in the washing machine and let Pete out of his cage to romp around.

“Girl, you were on a major chocolate binge last night. If you truly want Steve back you’ll need to cut back on the cake. Your infamous metabolism is shirking its duties because I saw cellulite on your ass last night.”

“Hey, when did you see my ass? I locked your cage before I went out last night.”

“I have my ways. Besides Kari has more dimples on her butt than you do
—
if that helps.”

“My head is ringing, I need to sit down.”

“It’s not your head; it’s your phone, you ding-bat.”

When I heard Steve’s voice, I nearly wet my pants. “Hey Red, I heard you were on your butt most of the night… ha ha.”

“You’re funny, Steve. I gave it a try. I’m not sure Greg is the best instructor for me. I might try somewhere else.”

“Why? Did Greg make a move on you?”

Steve sounded jealous. Good. “No. Besides why would you care? You dumped me.”

“I didn’t dump you. You’re going to start a profession that’s dangerous and I can’t see you get hurt again. I have to go. Take care.” I heard a click and whispered, “Goodbye” to a dial tone.

I thought I’d check out the online dating website that the chubby lady recommended. I had nothing better to do. I wanted to get Kitty’s advice before I signed up. I called her and she got the blow-by-blow story about me spending the class on my butt.

“God, that’s funny… Give the dating service a try. The first thirty days are free, right? Besides, maybe Steve will find out what you’re doing and beg you to come back to him.”

“Yah think? I miss his kisses.” I hoped Kitty was right.

Pete was more than happy to help me with my profile. His ideas and my ideas were completely different though:

“S
chedule the dates for every two hours, that way you can weed out the losers. I think it’s called speed-dating.”

We found several potential dates for next Saturday night and all of them were available. I sent each of them a message and by the end of day, I had six dates lined up. The strange thing was, not one of them questioned why I made the dates for only two hours. Could I actually date six guys in one night? It’d be a challenge, but I was up for it.

“I know this was my idea, but I’m surprised you’re actually doing it. I hope it turns out okay. You won’t blame me if it’s a disaster, will you?”

“No, but I’m hoping there’s one good guy in the bunch. I wish I could take you along on my dates. You could rate them for me.”

“That would be fun. Let me do it.”

“No offense, but I think Kitty and Brenda would know better what I’m looking for in a guy. I’m going to email them with my dating schedule.”

Hi Kitty and Brenda,

I’ve decided to aggressively pursue dating again. Here’s my dating schedule for Saturday night. I want your opinion, so take notes.

I’m meeting ‘Nick Shaver’ at Silas Street Café at 2:00 p.m.

Next is ‘Bob Smith’ at Mr. Gyro at 4:00 p.m.

Then I’m meeting ‘Samuel Tyson’ at Paseo Caribbean Restaurant at 6:00 p.m.

‘Sneaky Bastard’ is next. We’ll meet at the Green Leaf Vietnamese at 8:00 p.m.

‘Michael Nate Parker’ is next at the Magnolia Village Pub at 10:00 p.m.

Last, but not least is ‘The Beaver’ at The Burger King on the corner of 5
th
and Union around midnight—if I’m still awake.

Corny

***

The next morning I was determined to help Ralph be successful. After lunch, I forwarded the phones to the operator and we went into the conference room to practice for his first board meeting. My strategy was to toss out questions that might come up, and see how he reacted, but it totally threw him. He stuttered through all his answers.

Out of nowhere he blurted, “I can’t control my stuttering. It happens when I’m nervous. What am I going to do? The staff will make fun of me. Whenever I’m around, they’re always snickering.”

“Ralph, I want to help you. Try and relax and speak slowly. It seems to worsen when you talk fast. Okay?” What I wanted to tell him was to lick his finger and stick it in a wall socket.

“Okay, but it better work or I’ll dock your pay.”

“Listen Ralph, I’m trying to help. You need to gain the employees’ respect and stuttering won’t help.”

“Study my notes for a while and then we’ll re-visit them after lunch.”

“All right.” His head rested on the conference table when I left and he looked pretty glum. I shook Pete awake. I needed his help.

“Hey, you woke me up from a wonderful dream about a harem of sexy ferrets.”

“Do me a favor and go check on Ralph. He didn’t look too happy when I left him.”

“He’s fine. He
’
s chanting, ‘I will not stutter, I will not stutter.’ ”

Good. He learned a new skill from me today
—
a chant. If I could teach Ralph one new thing a day, he’d be ready to run the company in maybe a year.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was finally my speed date night and I made sure to check my email before I left for my first date. The Beaver, my midnight date wrote:

Dear Corny,

I’m sorry but I have to cancel my date for tonight. I’m disappointed because I was looking forward to meeting you. You sound hot. Maybe we could go to Burger King next weekend. I’ve been called in to work a double shift at my job as the newly promoted night manager. I work at the McDonalds right below the Seattle Ferry Terminal; it’s the best job ever.

Sincerely,

The Beaver

“Sounds like a winner—not.”

“True. He doesn’t sound like my dream man, that’s for sure. I’ve been to that particular McDonalds a few times. It’s a real dump. Strangely, my date with The Beaver
was supposed to be at Burger King on 1
st
Avenue and Pike. Do you think he was going to use our date to spy on the competition?”

“I wonder what his title was before he was the night manager—the french fry machine manager?”

“Oh, you had to bring up french fries. I’m starving… I fricken love french fries; they’re golden, crispy, and wonderfully salty. I’ve perfected the ketchup-to-french fry ratio. First, I pour all my precious french fries onto a stack of about ten little white napkins. Make sure the napkins are perfectly lined up on top of each other first. If you get too much ketchup in one spot your french fries get soggy. Carefully tear the corner of the ketchup packet open with your teeth. If you’re not sure where to tear, look closely at the corner of the packet and you’ll see a dashed line. If you’re squeamish about putting your mouth on the ketchup packet, then wipe them down with a sanitary wipe. Now that you have the packet open, carefully dribble two packets of ketchup evenly over your fries. If you’re a salt fiend like me, you can sprinkle additional salt at this time.”

“Now you’ve got me craving french fries, do you have time to pick up a large order before your dates start?”

“No, but even if I did, I wouldn’t feed you greasy food. Kari told me what happens when you eat grease and it’s not pleasant.”

“Fine, be a party-pooper.”

“The point is, I better not see poop any place, but in your box. Got it?”

“Got it.”