After a somewhat chaotic and decidedly ill-advised ride in a hemi-powered chariot of love, the magic was about to happen Chez Paul.

The magic started with an inglorious stumble through the front door. With a grunt that threatened further vomiting, Becca hit a bowling pin left in the entryway for no reason other than the slovenly nature of bachelor life. That would most likely leave a black eye for tomorrow.

The magic continued with as uncoordinated a disrobing as the shabby apartment had ever seen, followed by a few mono-syllabic statements of mutual, physical attraction from both parties. Becca was the more eloquent of the two, but not by much.

Sadly, though probably ultimately for the best, the magic failed at that most embarrassing of times. In their own re-tellings of the sordid evening, on those occasions when forced to do so, the particular order of things was debated. Each claims the other started, and they merely got caught up in the moment.

But in the end, they both hurt. They both cried.