The World Is My Canvas

Story Submitted by Trey:

Debbie, who was a medical assistant and freelance artist, and I were out to dinner at a small but upscale cafe on our first date when our conversation hit a lull.  Nothing to be worried about, typically, but it became an issue when she pulled out a black pen and scrawled something onto the table.  "What are you doing?" I asked her.

She didn't reply until she was done and leaned back from her handiwork.  It was a small picture of a dog.  Well-done vandalism, but vandalism nonetheless.

I said, "Very nice.  We should go ahead and wash that off."

"No," she said, "I made it for you, and now you want to wash it off?"

I replied, "It's vandalism."

She asked, "Are you my father?  If they caught me, then I'd be the one in trouble.  But they won't.  I'm way too good."

Our food arrived, and she tried to write something on the porcelain of the plate.  When that didn't work, she went back to writing on the table. 

"Please don't," I said.

She ignored me and drew a series of vines and flowers, all small, but still noticeable from a waiter's point of view.  In the middle of it, she looked up at me and said, "I'm drawing them for you.  The least you could do is show me some gratitude."

I came up with a plan to rub off her artworks from the table after dinner but before a server came by and noticed them after we left.  Once I paid the check, I stood up with her and said, "I'll meet you outside.  I'm just going to hit up a bathroom."

She gave me a hard look and said, "If you erase my drawings, there will be hell to pay.  I drew them for you and you never even thanked me."

"And you didn't thank me for dinner.  I'll meet you outside."

Without a thank-you, she said, "Fine," and walked past me to the exit.

Once she seemed safely away, I dipped part of my napkin into my water glass and zealously rubbed off her art.  It made a smeary mess, but after a few minutes, you couldn't tell that anything had been written there, unless you were looking for something.

When I made it outside to meet her, she said, "Hey, so I couldn't help but notice that you rubbed off my artwork.  I should shoot you in the face."

"Isn't that an overreaction?"

"For someone who censors art?  No."

"But isn't there a difference between art and vandalism?"

"Art is art, Philistine.  Get bent."  She stormed away.  I thought about buying a can of paint, going to her house in the middle of the night, and splattering it all over her doors, windows, and furniture.  By her rationale, there wouldn't have been a problem.  After all, it was art.