She squealed with delight, as if Santa Claus had brought her a blow-up Elvis again this year!
It was a darn shame that her ex-boyfriend was the jealous type, stabbing him with his pointy wit, watching as he sailed out of the window to points unknown!
“Another night alone”, she thought, and wondered how to change her fate, her love life, and the thought of baking chocolate chip cookies with her sexy oven mittens, guaranteed to lure her, as yet, unknown lover into the steamy, hot ecstasy of her tiny apartment, with its broken thermometer and lack of ice cubes in the fridge.
“If only”, she thought. “If only tonight is the night…..”
She tried to order pizza, but the last delivery driver was scared off when she showed up at the door sporting her favorite “Pepperoni Swimsuit” with its “Melted-Cheese” adornments. What ever-loving Pizza Man could resist that?
But resist it they did, leaving her with fewer and fewer ideas to top her free weekend off, with a bit more than a discounted bottle of Pinot Noir Blanc Wine, and the promise of a new Blow-up Elvis for Christmas.
Tonight. Tonight. Tonight. It was like a Mantra for her. Fingering her classic dial telephone, twisting her hair around her finger and massaging the wine glass like they had known each other before.
Suddenly the telephone rang, sending shivers up her spine. She let it ring a few times more, thus compensating for the broken thermostat and lack of quality ice cubes in the fridge, by sending yet another wave of shivers up and down, up and down. “Hmm” she thought to herself. “There is something familiar here!”
It happened to be him. The Thermostat repair man, Mr Frost. He was a catch, all right, with his fancy leather tool belt and waxy mustache, trending into the more mature grey colors of a Montréal Winter. Someone who was kind of like her famous Chocolate Chip Cookies when removed from the oven: warm and crunchy on the outside, and soft and chocolaty in the inside.
She made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. 9 o’clock sharp! “And remember to bring your Tool Belt, (she giggled when she considered saying, “and nothing else”)” before she let the telephone receiver fall gently onto the table, as if she had been gently lifted onto her bed of nighttime dreams, and romance.
At 9pm sharp the door rang. At the same moment the oven “dinged” telling her that the cookies were ready. What a quandry. Should she let the cookies burn, or Mr Frost go cold? The choice was almost too much to handle for her, but she dared to take on both challenges at one time.
She reached for the door, as her foot inched its way towards the oven. She could almost feel his tool belt rubbing against the door revealing his anticipation in solving at least one of her problems. The thermostat, her love life, or the lack of usable ice cubes in her less than adequate refrigerator.
Almost there. She called out to him in case he was tempted by the next-door neighbor, a randomly sexy woman who wasn’t expecting an inflatable Elvis for Christmas, and who was only half the woman, she was!
The cookies started to brown around the edges, which might have attracted other men than him, but this was not the time, nor the place to air her dirty laundry trying to lure unsuspecting Lottery Salesmen into her steamy, rather hot, due to her broken thermostat, apartment with ice cubes that were swimming in their warm, Mediterranean Dreams!
She reached for the oven dial, but couldn’t quite make the grade. Suddenly inspiration struck her. Well, perspiration as well, if you know what I mean, and have been following the troubles with her broken thermostat, lack of exciting men who would help her in blowing up her bandage-patched inflatable Elvis, and the lack of a freezer in her fridge, where others would have cold cubes waiting for their hot lovers!
She screamed! At the top of her lungs. Simply Screamed!
Fire! The cookies have caught on fire!
At that juncture, having lost her balance thus landing flat on her finely polished hardwood floor, which tended to creak a bit when she was trying to escape notice from her last failed lover, most likely being more interested in playing games on Facebook, or taking pot shots out of the window at passersby resembling Americans.
Mr Frost burst through the door displaying his rusty trusty axe, with its finely-crafted Kentucky Hickory handle, smooth to the touch, but intensely hard, ready to rock and roll (her world) – giggling at that thought).
He pulled her up off the floor and swept her off her feet, rescuing not only the Chocolate Chip Cookies, but her love life as well. “This one might even make it into my latest blog” she told herself, but that was for later.
They just sat there, exhausted after a night of unspeakable passion. He turned to her, after finishing off his cookie, and said,
Baby. You are sweeter than this cookie and hotter than that broken thermostat in the other room,
And she knew with that statement
That sooner or later, her ice-maker would be fixed for good……