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Too Much Hot Sauce

Short story By: kukaburry

Is there really such a thing as too much hot sauce?

Submitted:May 27, 2010    Reads: 71    Comments: 2    Likes: 1   

"You can never have too much hot sauce." Those are the infamous words Jonathan spoke that I will forever remember from that fateful day.

We were cruising through downtown, on our way to a Breaking Benjamin concert when my stomach gave an almighty growl.

"Babe, are you hungry?" Jonathan asked unnecessarily. I rolled my eyes, attempting to think of a witty comeback, but when I looked into his beautiful baby blue eyes, all of my snarky comments vanished.

"Yeah," I replied, cursing myself for my infatuation with his good looks. I needed to think about him on a larger, deeper scale. I should think about his great laugh, his perfect clothes and his divine hair-I was hopeless. The only positive things I could think about him were physical. Did he even have any deeper qualities?

I turned to see his bronzed, strong hand moving towards my own pale, skinny one. Okay, so he's a compassionate guy, I thought. "Hey babe, can you hand me the lighter?" My hand was resting over the little red lighter he loved so much.

"Oh, sure," I grasped it and handed it to him, my stomach fluttering when our hands touched.

"Do you want Taco Bell? It's the bomb, man." Without waiting for my reply of 'that place is disgusting', he pulled into the parking lot and parked directly in front of the exit. The engine ker-klunked a little bit, but I wasn't worried-we had learned to jump start it with our cell phone batteries.

As we walked to the counter, Spanish pop played through the speakers above us. "This stuff is grooving," he said lamely, bouncing his head to the obnoxious beat. "Hey babe, go sit down at a table with some spinny chairs. I'll get us some food."

I never even told him what I wanted. Why had I actually agreed to go on this date in the first place? Oh yeah, because I've had a huge crush on his adorable face for eternity. I walked to the table angrily and sat down harshly in the seat. If he called me 'babe' one more time, I would probably snap.

My earlier raptures of his 'amiable qualities' were swept out of my mind. Even though he gave me a ride home every day, I had never had to listen to his horrible conversation. I stared at the "Thank you customer" sign on the wall next to me and thought about my Pride and Prejudice ending. Yes, he was tall and handsome, but (as I suddenly realized) was about as deep as a drop of water.

I picked up a handful of hot sauce and brought it over, "Is this too much?"

"You can never have too much hot sauce babe," he replied, reaching greedily for the packets.

Summoning up all the courage I could find, I chucked every single packet into his face. "Never call me babe again."


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