A few months after the birthday fiasco, I get a call...it's Minnie the Moocher. Damn, she got a nerve calling me! She must want something. I let the phone ring without answering, only to have her redial me twice more. Finally, against my better judgment, but also out of some curiosity, I answered.
The Moocher had called to apologize for how things went down. She admitted to be selfish, spoiled and high-maintenance, and tried to explain it away by saying that couldn't help it because everyone from her parents to friends to past boyfriends to lusty male co-workers had always done practically everything for her, so it had become rather routine to be pampered and waited on hand and foot, to the point that she didn't know any other way (or appreciate it). People did stuff for her; she didn't do stuff for people. But now, she said, she really missed me, and wanted a chance to make things up to me and show that she was trying to change. I told I wasn't sure, but I'd think about it and let her know...
The next day, I got a text from her asking if I'd thought about it.
"A little," I said, "But things have been busy and I hadn't really thought about it a whole lot yet."
"Well, I've got a surprise for you: I ordered some dinner, and I'm about to go and pick it up and come see you, so we can talk about it."
"You're paying for dinner and coming to see me? Well I guess I can't turn that down."
"Come one, don't be like that, I'm trying to make it up to you. I'll see you in a little bit."
A half an hour later, there she was, at my door. She looked as good as ever, dressed as provocatively as one can imagine someone dressing to come and visit someone to eat and watch TV, our normal date. She was also carrying a bag with something smelling very good in it, so she had followed through on picking up dinner. Clearly, she had baited the hook; the question was whether I was going to bite.
"Can we eat in the living room," she asked. "I want to get cozy."
"Sure, why not?" I replied. She headed for the sofa, I went to grab the TV trays to put the food on, and then joined her in the living room, only to see her remove one dinner from the bag.
"You bought one dinner? How is that making things up to me?"
"Well, you didn't have to cook for me."
"If I didn't have to cook for you, then that means I also didn't cook for me. And since you didn't bring me anything to eat, that means...you know what, never mind, it doesn't even matter. This" - I said, closing my eyes so as not to look down again at the big brown eyes and pouty lips (formed into a sad expression for effect), and the overflowing cleavage (squeezed together and rising and falling with deep breaths, also for effect) - "is not going to work."
So off she - and her dinner - went to go eat somewhere else...don't go away mad, I thought, looking away from that bootylicious stride as she headed back to her car, just go away...