here is the story of my first pancake.
his name was peter. we emailed for a while through salon's personals, and he seemed nice, and non-threatening, and genetically male*, and perhaps funny. bonus: he once worked for the TOS message boards, which sort of makes me weak in the knees. <3 star trek! <3
anyway, we decided to meet at the farmer's market... and i had an easy out just in case in the form of pinksara, with whom i was supposed to attend a burlesque show later than evening. so i left work and set off for the market in my cute leopard print pedalpushers and pompadour. the way i figure it, i should wear something a little weird right off the bat so they know who they're dealing with. thus the peg pants.
i was ready to rumble.
i arrived at the market and as i got out of my car, i noticed the zipper in my pants was down. so i pulled at it- and completely ripped the entire top of my pants off. HULK SMASH! the waistband and zipper were just... gone. conveniently, i had a long green scarf with me, which i tied jauntily about my waist, and then i wandered sadly into the farmer's market.
i saw him from about 30 feet away.
there was nothing inherently wrong, but i knew it wasn't right. i hadn't been expecting much, which worked to my advantage. i figured, i'll stay an hour then make my escape. i sat down.
he was remarkably skinny. he seemed sort of judgemental of my tattoos- but purely out of ignorance. he was very midwestern, and yet he said "dude" alot. he was antsy, kept drumming his fingers on the table. there was a "ratatatatat" sound as he did so, seemingly louder than fingers should make. i continued the conversation, ignoring it.
the sound continued as well, ignoring me.
i noticed that with each eruption of noise, peter seemed to adjust his weight.
you've got to be kidding me. is he farting? continuously? and without shame? PLEASE GOD TELL ME THIS IS A JOKE AND CLIVE OWEN IS GOING TO COME SWEEP ME UP IN HIS ARMS AND WE'LL TURN INTO BIRDS TO FLY FAR FAR AWAY FROM FIRST PANCAKE PETER.
and then, quite suddenly, in the middle of the conversation, pancake peter exclaimed, "so anyway it was nice to meet you, i'll talk to you later!" and just as quickly as he could, he ran off into the night...
in the direction of the restrooms...
never to be seen nor heard from again.
so i'm pretty sure that as long as my future dates can refrain from shitting their pants (wombat, if you weren't already married, we'd have to work on this one) then the pancake joke will become truth. already it REEKS of truthiness...
or perhaps that is something else altogether?