“You son of a…“

Not the best start to a date.

“Um…” Great dialogue there, Shakespeare. “Hi, honey.”

“Don’t you ‘hi, honey’, me, you cheating rat-bastard!”

Okay. Wasn’t expecting that. At that point, there was pretty much three ways this could go.

1) Feign innocence. (Easy enough to do, since I was… I’m pretty sure…)

2) Confess to it, fall to my knees, beg her forgiveness, and promise never to do it again. (Whatever it was.)

3) Run like hell.

Okay, two options, really. She’s on the track team, and could run me down like a cheetah after a gazelle. A very sickly gazelle. A very sick, lame gazelle. Hell, I might get as far as turning around. Okay, option 1, since it was true.

“Honestly, I have no idea what…”

“Oh, let me refresh your memory. You, Janelle, skinny dipping and more in the hot tub!”

“What? Last night?” I was confused. “But you said…” Wait. Janelle. Her sister Janelle. Her twin sister Janelle!

Oh, crap…

Maybe I should have run…