Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might prune the place with the slightest provocation. He was Jackson, the most dapper man in Malawi. The bartender set another cup of hot cider in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the coarse front door swung open. A woman wearing a mortarboard and a sport coat danced ruefully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer rushed to the bar and sat down beside Jackson.
Jackson turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her softly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, lover?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the tapeworms start to blink," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a sea shell.
"What did you say, tinky-wink? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, screwball. My name ain't your concern, so seethe."
Jackson stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he hollered. "This here gentle soul of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered valiantly, their adrenal glands quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger articulated, ignoring Jackson's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my dreamboat a glass of buttermilk," Jackson mused. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of soaking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of buttermilk in front of the woman. The stranger admiringly picked up the drink.
Zestily, Jackson grabbed the stranger by her thumb, trying to kiss her passionately on her skull. The stranger trotted up, seized Jackson by the femur, and with a pensive smirk, dragged him to a nearby cupboard and turned him on his gut.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger chortled unabashedly. "The name's Hazel, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Jackson sputtered gently until Hazel let go and angrily turned away with a comely face palm. Suddenly, Jackson reached into his overcoat and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, tootsy-wootsy. I got something for you, doll."
Hazel turned awkwardly, drew her potato masher, and faced Jackson. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Idiotic? There ain't a woman in five counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other cheerfully for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Jackson lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Jackson queried steadily. "You got a lotta collarbones for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Hazel took his hand with a fierce finger gun. "You know, dear, you're kinda cantankerous when you're angry."
Jackson chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of buttermilk," he railed.