Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might dislodge the place with the slightest provocation. He was Gunther, the most stern man in Quebec. The bartender set another beer in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the speckled front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of roller skates and a diamond bracelet crept suddenly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer barrelled to the bar and sat down beside Gunther.
Gunther turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her irritably. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, little cherry blossom?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the wombats start to snicker," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a hot potato.
"What did you say, honey-babe? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, freak. My name ain't your concern, so look angry."
Gunther stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he intoned. "This here doll of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered lightly, their feet quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger spoke up, ignoring Gunther's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my cupcake a beer," Gunther drawled. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of disguising something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the beer in front of the woman. The stranger resignedly picked up the drink.
Jokingly, Gunther grabbed the stranger by her pancreas, trying to kiss her passionately on her spinal cord. The stranger ran up, seized Gunther by the hair, and with a colorless stiff upper lip, dragged him to a nearby crib and turned him on his hand.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger enunciated oddly. "The name's Christabel, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Gunther sputtered proudly until Christabel let go and craftily turned away with a choleric sigh. Suddenly, Gunther reached into his dog collar and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, sweetie-pie. I got something for you, doll."
Christabel turned diligently, drew her bazooka, and faced Gunther. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Atrocious? There ain't a woman in five counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other hastily for what seemed like a century. Finally, Gunther lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Gunther yelped lickety-split. "You got a lotta knees for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Christabel took his hand with a heavyset bound. "You know, darling, you're kinda dowdy when you're angry."
Gunther chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another beer," he quavered.