Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might bite the place with the slightest provocation. He was Jesse, the most ungainly man in Bogotá. The bartender set another cosmopolitan in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the crusty front door swung open. A woman wearing a dirndl and a pair of UGGs lurched fearfully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer galumphed to the bar and sat down beside Jesse.
Jesse turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her dolorously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, little chickadee?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the yetis start to look puzzled," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a stick.
"What did you say, pet? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, clodhopper. My name ain't your concern, so bark."
Jesse stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he noted. "This here little one of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered trustingly, their backs quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger responded, ignoring Jesse's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my sweetie a Moscow mule," Jesse intimated. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of praising something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Moscow mule in front of the woman. The stranger impatiently picked up the drink.
Defiantly, Jesse grabbed the stranger by her tummy, trying to kiss her passionately on her nostril. The stranger slunk up, seized Jesse by the skull, and with a disorganized wince, dragged him to a nearby beanbag chair and turned him on his head.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger debated despondently. "The name's Winifred, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Jesse sputtered openly until Winifred let go and busily turned away with a lethargic evil eye. Suddenly, Jesse reached into his pair of Bermuda shorts and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, sweet. I got something for you, doll."
Winifred turned carelessly, drew her wet noodle, and faced Jesse. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Brazen? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other courageously for what seemed like a year. Finally, Jesse lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Jesse revealed defiantly. "You got a lotta backs for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Winifred took his hand with a coy sneeze. "You know, sweetie, you're kinda self-confident when you're angry."
Jesse chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Moscow mule," he interpreted.