A Flaming Disaster

Dear Diary

Hi there, guys and dolls! My girls have asked of me to share my misshapen adventures in life. Starting today, I’ll be posting regularly, basically a “dear diary,” about my dating and social swirl, the neighborhood gossip that I shouldn’t share, workplace hazards, entertainment raves and faves and of course, a weekly advice column that you should definitely read, but I wouldn’t necessarily follow the suggestions given. Hope you enjoy and if you do, please share the posts and feel free to comment below. I love hearing from you.

So here goes!

Dear Diary,

Hank, the bartender

What a weekend I had. It started out well, Friday night Happy Hour at the favorite watering hole. Hank, the bartender extraordinaire, thought he was doing a grand gesture by introducing me to Chuck, this handsome hunk of maleness that strolled into the place solo. At first, I played it cool, sipping slowly on my martini, nibbling peanuts, ever so casually laughing at his corny jokes, touching his hand only once. When I got up to powder my nose, I came back to an empty stool. Needless to say, I was a little pouty ’til I got closer and realized he had written his number on my soggy cocktail napkin. I clinched it with glee, tucked it away in my black patent purse and joined my friends who had arrived. A fun night was had by all, except for Billy, who lost at the barstool swiveling contest by spinning so fast he fell off. Glad it was him and not me this time.

Chuck almost looked like this

The next morning, I waited ’til at least 10 am to call Chuck. I didn’t want to seem too eager, but I wasn’t going to let this one slip away, even if he did put me in the position to be the first to call. I am modern girl, after all. He asked me to dinner at one of the swanky French restaurants in town. Yep, I hit the jackpot, I was certain. Eight o’clock? You bet I’d be there.

Then came the long look in the mirror. Eyelashes – that’s what I needed. Some big, long seductive things I could bat across the table, sending signals all night long. I rummaged around in my dressing table drawer and found just the set, but no adhesive. I must have some somewhere, turning my place upside down, finally finding this tube of super glue stuff in the kitchen junk drawer. That’ll do.

Well, it did. At first, it stung to high heaven and speaking of high, I don’t know what horse they got that one from but I tell you, the fumes were enough for me to day dream about pink elephants for a few minutes. Kinda liked it, to be honest. After it settled down and I was able to see straight and open my eyes, I got them positioned nicely and spent a good hour practicing just that right full laugh, hand to the chest and twittering lash batting. I was ready for romance!

Chez Luis was great. I showed up the perfunctory 10 minutes late, made my dramatic arrival and sat down to flowers, violins and candlelight. The conversation flowed with the wine and a flirty conversation that I really have no idea what we were talking about, but I’m sure it was full of innuendo. I was too mesmerized at the thought of it going so well that I just didn’t bother to follow it.

Then disaster struck. Chuck leaned in, I thought for a kiss but it was actually to grab a bread roll. As I leaned in towards him, I closed my eyes and got a little too close to the candle flame. Then I felt heat, not of the body kind. And heard a fooosh! Chuck panicked, accidentally threw a glass of wine and then immediately picked up the water he meant to originally meant to throw at me to dowse out my frizzling eyelashes and smoking teased and sprayed bouffant hair. I shrieked, started rolling on the floor, face down, all I could think of was stop, drop and roll.

As it turns out, the damage was minor; doctor says my own lashes and bangs should grow back over the next 4 – 6 weeks. I’m now experimenting with new hairdos and the exotic sunglasses all day look. As for Chuck, he cowered like a baby at the scene. So I chucked him.

Thanks for reading and stay tuned for more posts. And don’t forget to give my Poppy Cove Mysteries a try if you haven’t already.

Toodles, Barbara Jean

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About Barbara Jean Coast

Barbara Jean Coast is the pen name of authors Andrea Taylor and Heather Shkuratoff. She is currently hard at work telling the cozy tales of the fictional town of Santa Lucia, loosely based on Santa Barbara in the late 50's, early 60's, known as The Poppy Cove Mysteries.
This entry was posted in 1950's, 1950's California, 1950s fun, 1950s glamour, 50's Slang, Alter Ego, Authors, Beauty, blogaday, Blogs, Characters, cocktail culture, cocktails, creative writing, Creativity, daily blog, Dating, diary, entertainment, Etiquette, Fiction, Fictional Characters, Happy Hour, historical fiction, Humor, journal, Love, Nostalgia, Pop Culture, Romance, Self Esteem, Social Mores, Socializing, stories, Uncategorized, Vintage and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to A Flaming Disaster

  1. sallycootie says:

    Love it!

    Liked by 1 person

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