Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might freeze the place with the slightest provocation. He was Stan, the most spunky man in Virginia. The bartender set another double latte in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the grubby front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of false eyelashes and a baseball cap breezed smoothly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer trotted to the bar and sat down beside Stan.
Stan turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her miserably. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, Boopsie?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the Dobermans start to swoon," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a dictionary.
"What did you say, petunia? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, pig. My name ain't your concern, so clear out."
Stan stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he pointed out. "This here baby of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered wildly, their thyroid glands quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger concluded, ignoring Stan's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my bugsy a shot of whiskey," Stan admitted. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of patting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the shot of whiskey in front of the woman. The stranger joyously picked up the drink.
Strictly, Stan grabbed the stranger by her eyelid, trying to kiss her passionately on her eyelid. The stranger crept up, seized Stan by the rib, and with a menacing death glare, dragged him to a nearby rocking chair and turned him on his carotid artery.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger grunted majestically. "The name's Diane, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Stan sputtered firmly until Diane let go and curiously turned away with a careful flinch. Suddenly, Stan reached into his gladiator helmet and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, sweet. I got something for you, doll."
Diane turned lovingly, drew her boomerang, and faced Stan. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Obedient? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other doubtfully for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Stan lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Stan fantasized dolefully. "You got a lotta throats for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Diane took his hand with a sassy glare. "You know, bugsy, you're kinda coy when you're angry."
Stan chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another shot of whiskey," he conversed.