Cherry Flavored

As I climbed into the passenger side of my business associate and friend, C's fancy-shmancy SUV yesterday, the first thing I noticed was a yowza and ouchy, bright red, scrape that was scabbing over on her right knee. Her black, knee-length skirt was hiked up a bit; exposing the tops of her thighs and her scene of the crime knee.

I don't hold back much. People that know me, know this. I generally speak my mind, and I like to ask a lot of questions:

"Hi. How are you?" I asked, smiling. It was good to see her.

"I'm well. Things are good. Busy. I've been busy." She said, as she pulled into the street; we were headed to the grocery store to pick items for our business luncheon.

"Yeah? What the hell happened to your knee? Was T involved (T is C's husband)?" I inquired with a smirky grin.

"No. It's not what you think. I tripped going down the stairs going into the basement. I'm such a clutz, but I really got a doozy this time." She said.

"Uh, huh." I said, eyebrows raised; saying nothing more.

"No really. That's what happened. I swear." She said.

"Okay. Then why are you getting so defensive? Do you know what it looks like to me?" I asked.

"I can only imagine, but go ahead; what's your version?" She said.

I put on my Inspector Clouseau hat, and started in with my investigation: "Well, based on the precise location of the scrape... lets call it what it actually is: A rug burn. And it appears to me like a text book case of one too many vodka's over the weekend. The act, that's easy, it was doggy-style. And the culprit: Berber carpeting. Berber isn't good for let's do it on the floor in any position, because it's so rough; you're just opening yourself (no pun intended) up for a nasty burn. Sort of like the one you have on your knee, kiddo. Well, unless of course you're into that kinda rough-n'-tuff-stuff. Er...uh...are you into the rough stuff, C?" I asked.

"Neve, I tripped down the stairs." She said, devilishly.

"Okay, C. Whatever you say, but I'm calling T later, and confirming my version with your version." I said, closing the car door and walking into the parking lot.

"You wouldn't? Oh God, you would, wouldn't you?" She asked.

"Okay, it was cherry flavored vodka." She said as she breezed pass me and walked into the store.

"I knew it! I have an eye for these types of things. That's not a falling down the stairs scrape, my friend." I called after her, grabbing a cart and catching up with her.

What's your favorite flavor, and why?

Ciao

NB

p.s. Just gotta have the cute cherry lingerie pictured above? Select here for more details.