PART II (click here to read Part I)

My leg is always wiggling back and forth, up and down, or in tiny little circles that would make even a merry-go-round ostrich get dizzy. I can’t not do it unless I’m sitting there fiercely concentrating on stopping it. Even then I can’t guarantee it.

My wiggling leg is a part of me. It always has been. I’m sure it always will be.

And today, I just want to tell you another (true) short story. For no other reason than that it needs to be told and you need to be entertained.

The place: CANYON INN, SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH

The year: 2012

I sat at the bar of the Canyon Inn, working my way slowly to the bottom of a stein of beer. Between gulps, I checked random useless crap on my phone. I couldn’t help but keep looking at the clock. My date was now really late.

Once my beer was gone, I set the stein down and opened up my Internet dating account. I pulled up her profile to decide if she was worth sticking around for.

She was pretty. She had these giant gorgeous blue eyes and naturally dark hair. She had a bit of sass to her look, and three times as much sass in the description that she wrote about herself. I’m a sucker for sass.

I looked at the clock once more. I’d give her five more minutes to show.

Me, I am a chronically on time person. I tend to value my time the way a mole values his claws. Which is a lot. And if I accept a date with you it means one of three things. Either you are intriguing, you are beautiful, or you happened to be both breathing and in my general vicinity when I find myself on the rebound.

And this girl was a combination of all three. Three points for her. Half an hour late with no text or call or even an attempt at an excuse I wouldn’t believe anyway. Minus four.

The five minutes I allotted her came and went. I flagged down the bartender to pay for my beer, and just as I reached for my wallet, she tapped on my shoulder and hurried and sat next to me.

“Hey,” she said as she leaned forward on the counter and started studying the shelves full of booze in front of us. The bartender asked if he could get her anything. “Mix me something that’ll knock me into next week,” she replied. Minus three points.

We chit-chatted for, oh, I don’t know… maybe 20 seconds

In that time I learned literally nothing about her. Except, maybe, that she could shoot an illegal drink and barely blink while she did.

And then…

It happened.

CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE