Oktober The Fourth: Blind Date

This is just 200 words. I'll probably hate it tomorrow, but who knows? It's a flash, but I felt I had plenty of room to flesh things out even so.

 Peace, Mari
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Blind Date

By Mari Kozlowski
10/4/2011

“Sorry, I meant to turn that off earlier.”

Carla stuck the cell back in her purse in a rush and turned to sling it back over her chair just as the waiter came with their rumachi. It was a huge mustard leather tote and it hit poor Brent square in the balls with some force. The sizzling rumachi flew up and over to the next table, landing on an older gentleman’s hands and wrists. He screamed and knocked over his wife’s wineglass as the burning hot livers seared his skin. The old lady screeched and jumped up as the chilled Chardonnay poured all over her silk dress, soaking it. Her girdle showed clearly through the wet fabric, and she looked daggers at Carla, shaking a finger at her before noticing the moans of pain coming from her husband. She bent to help him. Brent dragged himself over to the burnt patron despite his own discomfort. Several other servers rushed from their stations to lend aid. The other diners stared and whispered.

Carla hid her face in her hands, embarrassed beyond rational thought. Her date took another sip of wine and smiled.

“So,” he said, “Jennifer says you’re a ballet dancer?”