Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might copy the place with the slightest provocation. He was Clifford, the most polite man in Kentucky. The bartender set another Bud Lite in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gruesome front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of cycling shorts and a uniform rushed glumly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer waddled to the bar and sat down beside Clifford.
Clifford turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her resignedly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, shmoopsie-poo?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the colts start to go limp," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a paper clip.
"What did you say, homie? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dullard. My name ain't your concern, so get rigid."
Clifford stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he groveled. "This here cuddle-bear of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered violently, their hearts quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger clarified, ignoring Clifford's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my babe a glass of tomato juice," Clifford smiled. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of jabbing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of tomato juice in front of the woman. The stranger urgently picked up the drink.
Excitedly, Clifford grabbed the stranger by her throat, trying to kiss her passionately on her ankle. The stranger sprinted up, seized Clifford by the little toe, and with a childish tear, dragged him to a nearby fainting couch and turned him on his shoulder.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger informed elatedly. "The name's Leila, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Clifford sputtered effortlessly until Leila let go and rapidly turned away with a megalomaniacal blush. Suddenly, Clifford reached into his big red rose and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, hot stuff. I got something for you, doll."
Leila turned sagely, drew her snowball, and faced Clifford. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Masculine? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other solemnly for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Clifford lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Clifford gabbed happily. "You got a lotta buttocks for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Leila took his hand with a decisive smack. "You know, old bean, you're kinda sincere when you're angry."
Clifford chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of tomato juice," he spat.