Weaseling Out

Story Sent in by Dave:

Leigh and I had been talking over dinner and had hit a conversational lull. She shot several dark looks at me from across the table, which I thought was surprising, as we had been talking and having a nice time up until then.

"What's wrong?" I asked her.

She replied, "I think I hate you."

I stammered, "O-okay... why?"

She said, "You're nice, but your face looks like a weasel. I think you're only trying to trick me into thinking you're nice."

"I think I'm actually nice. Saying I look like a weasel isn't very nice at all."

She whispered, but in a harsh tone, "Don't you judge me. I'm just stating a fact. If you don't like it, that's none of my business."

"Okay. You want to go?"

She groaned and raised her voice. "I didn't say that. Did I say I wanted to go? Did I? Did I?"

"No."

"Some weasel-faced punk isn't going to tell me what to do, God almighty, no..."

I gave her a look, then stood up. She asked, "Where are you going?"

"I'm getting our waiter."

"I said I didn't want to go. Did you even listen—?"

"I want to go. Right now." I left the table, found the waiter, and asked him to bring the check as soon as he could. When I returned to the table, Leigh was still there, and she was mad.

"What the hell? Are you crazy or something?"

"Nope. But I think you are. Mind splitting this with me?"

She picked up a fork and brandished it like a weapon, but clumsily. "I should," she began, "I should—"

"You should put the fork down before there's a lawsuit, little girl," I yelled.

She jumped at that, put the fork down, threw her wallet open, slammed a few bills and change onto the table, and left. The check arrived moments later. Her collected cash covered about 80% of what she owed, but I considered it a small price to pay to be forever parted from her.