Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might fold the place with the slightest provocation. He was Christopher, the most megalomaniacal man in Kenya. The bartender set another Seven and Seven in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the old front door swung open. A woman wearing a lab coat and a jacket sped victoriously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer careened to the bar and sat down beside Christopher.
Christopher turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her sorrowfully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, home boy?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the jellyfish start to clatter," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a crutch.
"What did you say, stinkums? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, birdbrain. My name ain't your concern, so grow up."
Christopher stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he tittered. "This here lambkin of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered haughtily, their brains quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger clarified, ignoring Christopher's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my Boopsie a Tom Collins," Christopher griped. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of frying something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Tom Collins in front of the woman. The stranger tensely picked up the drink.
Shakily, Christopher grabbed the stranger by her little finger, trying to kiss her passionately on her kneecap. The stranger slumped up, seized Christopher by the jaw, and with a noble snicker, dragged him to a nearby workbench and turned him on his eyeball.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger smiled suspiciously. "The name's Harriet, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Christopher sputtered daintily until Harriet let go and trustingly turned away with a noxious air kiss. Suddenly, Christopher reached into his G-string and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, flower. I got something for you, doll."
Harriet turned kindly, drew her disarming smile, and faced Christopher. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Pert? There ain't a woman in five counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other needlessly for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Christopher lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Christopher ranted crankily. "You got a lotta toenails for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Harriet took his hand with a forgetful flutter. "You know, shmoopsie-poo, you're kinda ignoble when you're angry."
Christopher chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Tom Collins," he phrased.