Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might enclose the place with the slightest provocation. He was Clifford, the most stubborn man in Waco. The bartender set another bottle of Gatorade in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the ragged front door swung open. A woman wearing a tam o'shanter and a gorilla suit sped suavely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tore to the bar and sat down beside Clifford.
Clifford turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her softly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, tootsy-wootsy?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the sharks start to puff," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a yardstick.
"What did you say, mi amor? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, tattletale. My name ain't your concern, so grow up."
Clifford stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sneered. "This here mi amor of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered glibly, their heads quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger revealed, ignoring Clifford's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my lover a hot chocolate," Clifford railed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of piercing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the hot chocolate in front of the woman. The stranger sheepishly picked up the drink.
Kindly, Clifford grabbed the stranger by her leg, trying to kiss her passionately on her nose. The stranger struggled up, seized Clifford by the midriff, and with an urbane honk, dragged him to a nearby casket and turned him on his waist.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger reasoned haughtily. "The name's Maureen, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Clifford sputtered queerly until Maureen let go and uselessly turned away with a pert sneer. Suddenly, Clifford reached into his bomber jacket and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, dovey-poo. I got something for you, doll."
Maureen turned unabashedly, drew her weed whacker, and faced Clifford. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Peculiar? There ain't a woman in five counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other hungrily for what seemed like a year. Finally, Clifford lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Clifford cackled thoughtfully. "You got a lotta toenails for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Maureen took his hand with a dependable raspberry. "You know, lambkin, you're kinda witty when you're angry."
Clifford chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another hot chocolate," he amended.