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The Juice Bar
My friend—Tina, let's call her—is an avid gym rat. She has that pelvic "V" line indentation in the way lead singers from boy bands have, and can lift a truck tire faster than I can lift my fallen donut off the kitchen floor. So, it came as a bit of a shock to me when she said, "No more gym boys! Just no!" Apparently, a fellow iron-pumper invited her to his juice bar to chill before opening hours. When he told her to help with something in the storage room, she found—to her horror—a presumptuous futon set in place. "Just in case," he quipped with a heathen's smile. She ran out of there as fast as her legs could take her.
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Mr. Spicy
Eliana, my gorgeous Los Angeles friend who runs her own design business, has a doozy of a tale. She had hooked up with someone she somewhat liked, and when she awoke, he'd left. This wasn't the part that troubled Eliana. The pinnacle to her confusion lay in the fact that all her spices were stolen by this dude. Nary one speckle of ground black pepper had remained.
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I Know Who You Did Last Summer
I had gone on one of my very first dates. The excitement, the thrill, the butterflies quivering in my stomach were nothing short of ecstatic. So the guy picks me up, innocent, shy, a family-oriented type aka a perfect gentleman. As the night slowly pressed on, he decided to relay every sexual conquest of his, in perfect order. Making me question whether or not he kept a diary to have retained such perfect memory of each encounter. I took the train home.
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The Ketchup Fiend
Manhattan is a ritzy place. The guy I had gone out with was not. He wanted to impress me, being a visitor to my hometown and all, and suggested we go to a steakhouse for our second date. I tried arguing the idea, because as much as I like a medium rare T-Bone, I struggle to find the etiquette around someone I potentially can kiss, to devour the thing. But steakhouse it was! When our food arrived, he demanded ketchup from the waiter, which dwindled my interest in him right then and there. But wait—there's more. The ketchup bottle was glass, which meant, one needs to give it a vigorous yank or else suffer the consequences of 'dinner-sans-condiment'. Instead of asking for another bottle, he grabbed his steak knife, cramming the sauce with all his might, all while murmuring the ketchup to come out. With each failed attempt, he only tried harder, only to have a massive clump land on his plate, with definitive splash-back onto his crisp white shirt as fitting punishment.
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I Left My Heart in Costa Rica
Rachel, a good traveler friend of mine, had gone out with this beautiful Costa Rican hostel manager. They picked one of the best vegetarian eateries in town only to land in toilet stalls opposite each other, vomiting from contracted food poisoning.
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Family Ties
My friend, Eva, was ACCIDENTALLY matched up with her 3rd cousin. The awkward part came when reminiscing over how much they each wished to meet the very same great-grandmother. She was a pioneering woman who made real strides in her community. This luckily, was the key factor in their conversation, making them privy to the fact that they shared great lineage, yes, but also too-close-for-comfort DNA. Needless to say, they split the bill.
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