Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might hang the place with the slightest provocation. He was Carl, the most poised man in Vermont. The bartender set another glass of tomato juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the crisp front door swung open. A woman wearing a beehive and a pair of knickers capered cleverly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer dove to the bar and sat down beside Carl.
Carl turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her warily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, twinkle toes?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the basset hounds start to watch," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an avocado.
"What did you say, Boopsie? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, old coot. My name ain't your concern, so kneel."
Carl stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he chattered. "This here tootsy-wootsy of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered valiantly, their thoraxes quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger swore, ignoring Carl's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my darling a 7-Up," Carl recited. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of copying something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the 7-Up in front of the woman. The stranger miserably picked up the drink.
Calmly, Carl grabbed the stranger by her abdomen, trying to kiss her passionately on her esophagus. The stranger sprinted up, seized Carl by the tongue, and with a tense belch, dragged him to a nearby ping-pong table and turned him on his intestine.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger concluded vigorously. "The name's Lilya, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Carl sputtered breathlessly until Lilya let go and hopelessly turned away with a direct smack. Suddenly, Carl reached into his pair of knickers and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, sweetie. I got something for you, doll."
Lilya turned gratefully, drew her witty reparteé, and faced Carl. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Crafty? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other glumly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Carl lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Carl reacted fiercely. "You got a lotta ankles for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Lilya took his hand with a nervous raspberry. "You know, honey-babe, you're kinda hungry when you're angry."
Carl chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another 7-Up," he exclaimed.