I watched the well-dressed Casanova over the brim of my beverage, contemplating the best way to cause him pain. I was already halfway through my ninja-assassin routine, in which I dispatch him with a swift blow to the balls. Naturally, the women he was entertaining with his ridiculously good looks would then swoon at my wondrous technique ….
A rude voice interrupted my reverie.
“Um, are you going to actually drink that, or is holding it up to your lips that satisfying?”
I lowered my drink nonchalantly and faced my tablemate, as though there was nothing more normal than deep scrutiny of the world with one’s mouth attached to the lip of a glass.
Though we were close, I hadn’t been in her physical presence in years, so this was a night for reminiscence and laughter. The spiteful, homicidal thoughts aimed at a complete stranger could wait.
“Sorry, was just temporarily wishing death on Romeo over there. I mean, come on!”
She laughed and glanced in his direction. Two attractive women were giggling at his every word. Their hands clung to him, as though he might vanish in a puff of awesomeness at any moment and — damn it — they wanted in on that puff.
My friend shrugged.
“What about him? You jealous?”
My reply wasn’t meant to exit my mouth at so elevated a volume that children in neighbouring countries might be startled from their sleep. Somehow, though, it did. I laughed ruefully and added:
“No, not really. Just sad, actually. Why do girls like bad boys so much?”
She looked at me a little quizzically, then answered: