The incident

Dinner date. Spaghetti and meatballs. Uninteresting.

Reading. Small talk. Hmmm’ing.

Good time? Now as good as ever. He pops.

I love you.

She pops. Eyes dilate. Like saucers. Face purpling.

Wild gesturing. Bobs up and down like an orangutan.

He zones out.

Someone else understands. Hands her pen and paper.

Matter of seconds. Heimlich, she scrawls.

The little bulb lights up. He leaps.

Go for the rib cage, says little voice.

Splat! The meatball on the Maître-D’s pince-nez.

First hug. 

(Penned April 29, 2010)