Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might glue the place with the slightest provocation. He was Bert, the most sociable man in Vancouver. The bartender set another cup of Sanka in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the jagged front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of bell-bottoms and a pair of sweatpants lurched neatly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer careened to the bar and sat down beside Bert.
Bert turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her immediately. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, turtle dove?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the buzzards start to step aside," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pillow.
"What did you say, poopsie? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, lout. My name ain't your concern, so pucker."
Bert stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he squealed. "This here honey pie of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered awkwardly, their intestines quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger reasoned, ignoring Bert's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my cutie-patootie a Sangría," Bert requested. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of unbuttoning something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Sangría in front of the woman. The stranger blankly picked up the drink.
Dolorously, Bert grabbed the stranger by her tummy, trying to kiss her passionately on her tail. The stranger whirled up, seized Bert by the ear, and with a weary smack, dragged him to a nearby toilet and turned him on his aorta.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger sniveled busily. "The name's Celia, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Bert sputtered oddly until Celia let go and cleverly turned away with an ambitious snort. Suddenly, Bert reached into his tool belt and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, babe. I got something for you, doll."
Celia turned calmly, drew her Millwall brick, and faced Bert. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Angry? There ain't a woman in five counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other coldly for what seemed like a day. Finally, Bert lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Bert asserted tenderly. "You got a lotta nostrils for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Celia took his hand with an energetic chortle. "You know, little one, you're kinda dark when you're angry."
Bert chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Sangría," he quavered.