Chain of desire

Last night I visited one of my regular drinking spots. Due to the warm weather, I decided to ride my bike there. After a couple, my friends and I made the move to another bar. I unlocked my bike and as I pulled it away, the chain snagged on something and came off the sprockets (yes, that is what they are called, I googled it). I called to my friends 'hey, wait up, I have to fix my chain!' They stopped and made their way back to me. As this was happening a group of 3 women walked past us, on their way into the bar. One of them turned to me and offered to fix it. I glanced at her and told her that was a very nice offer but I can do it. I looked at the chain and realized my hands would get pretty greasy doing this. My cute little soft hands. I hesitated. The two security/door guys outside handed me a cloth napkin to protect my hands. I thought it strange as one of them earlier was chatting about building a bike for someone, but hey, I guess chivalry is dead. I took the napkin and grasped the chain when suddenly the woman that offered her services earlier came back out of the bar and told me to stop what I was doing. I looked at her. She was all corporate-power suit-heels-feminine-sexy as hell. She ordered me to flip the bike over. I obliged. I offered her the cloth napkin, she waved it away and grabbed the chain, pulling it over the sprocket, black grease all over her hands. In 5 seconds, it was all over. She released the bike, said 'there you go'. I handed her the napkin to wipe off her hands and thanked her. She told me it was not a problem and smiled as she handed me back the greasy napkin and went back into the bar. I, stunned, walked my bike to the next bar, a little smitten, a lot aroused and with a story to tell.

War wounds

The other morning I woke up, mouth dry, skin puffy and crying out for moisturizer, my brain scrambling to adjust to the harsh reality of afternoon. I started preparing my smoothie in my mind — blueberries, bananas, yoghurt — adding the ingredients until my mouth started to produce fluid. I got up. I stumbled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen (what up Dolly!) and prepared my miracle drink. The whir of the blender made me stumble to the bathroom for an Advil, where I looked at myself in the mirror. Gasp. The horror. I smoothed my hair off my face and noticed a huge bruise on my wrist. What the? I flashed back to the evening before. Me sitting with a friend at the bar - drinks - oysters - more drinks - oh blahblah is here, yeah! - more drinks - hey there's blahblah and she brought blahblah with her - oh I love this song, let's dance - more drinks - let's share a smoke - ooh that blahblah is cute - more drinks - I can't believe blahblah just did that - more drinks - leave with blahblah - make out with blahblah - leave blahblah's - stumble into taxi - stumble up the stairs - stumble into bed. Hmm. I was stumped. It could have been from anything! I couldn't figure it out until I went to write an email and as my wrist touched down on the desk I realized the bruise was from hitting the bar. Drink to my lips -  drink down on bar - wrist hits bar - repeat 17 million times. Yikes, I was so embarrassed and thought I should reserve my spot at rehab! Then I thought, meh, it could be worse, it could be a bruise on my ass from sitting too much on a bar stool, I mean, at least I got around.