Here is the winning letter from our “Worst Date Ever” contest!
I work at the MN Renaissance Festival and met a girl out there we’ll call Betty (since that in no way resembles her real name). Betty and I worked not to far from each other, and we both liked cooking for the Saturday night potluck suppers for the booths around us. We started talking recipes, then hanging out, then one evening we got into a serious make-out session. We both agreed that we did not just want a “Festival Fling”, so we agreed that after festival was over we would get together at her house (I was in the middle of remodeling) and see where things led. The appointed evening came and I drove over to her place, grinning like a fool with anticipation. Because of road construction, I couldn’t park on the street, so she had said to just park in the driveway and come around back when I arrived. She greeted me warmly and proudly showed off the massive pergola her (retired contractor) step-dad had just finished. “I figured we’d eat out here” Betty said; “I’m making won-tons to start with, did you want to help?” I agreed and we went to the kitchen and started cooking (the meal, that is). Suddenly she squealed and said “I almost forgot, did you want to see the kittens?” Her cat (whose name escapes me but I will call Fluffy) was nestled in the corner of the living room with her two kittens. After making the appropriate approving noises I suggested that perhaps we might want to give the kittens a rest and take advantage of her lovely couch. She was quite agreeable, but wanted to hold off anything serious until after dinner. Mid-snog I noticed the smoke roiling out of the kitchen door. We went to investigate and discovered that she’d left the oil for frying the wontons on the stove. It was seriously smoking and looked like flames were starting to come off it. I said “Put the pan lid on it and turn it off!” to which Betty replied “Oh I’ll just use this.” I turned just in time to see her grab the pitcher of iced tea waiting for us on the counter. Fortunately, when I was a lad, my father was a volunteer fireman and my mother was a Girl Scout leader. One year during Fire Safety Awareness Week the department gave the Girl Scouts a demonstration of what happens when you pour liquid onto an oil fire. Unfortunately my tackle was not quick enough to stop most of the tea from hitting the hot oil. The resulting fireball scorched the back of my neck and crisped some hair, but otherwise left us unharmed. The same could not be said for the kitchen walls and cabinetry which started to burn merrily. “STAY DOWN AND GET OUT!” I yelled and we started scuttling for the front door. Suddenly Betty screeched “Fluffy!” and headed for the cat’s box. She handed me Fluffy (who was *not* happy about this whole state of affairs) and grabbed the kittens with me yelling “Go! Go! Go! Get OUT!” I grabbed Fluffy by the scruff of the neck and suited action to words, heading for the door. We got out and onto the front lawn where I tried to hand Fluffy to Betty. Unfortunately the instant I let go of her neck she sank her teeth into the base of my thumb and added a couple of serious kicks with her rear claws on my forearm, before dropping loose and racing back into the house. Betty turned on me screaming “What did you do to poor Fluffy? Why didn’t you stop her! You killed my cat!” and burst into tears. I tried to put a consoling arm around her shoulders and she punched me in the nose. So we stood there watching through the open front door as the fire spread. I have no idea how long we were standing there (adreniline does strange things to your time sense) before I realized that the cops and firetrucks had arrived and blood was dripping off my fingertips. I was wearing a turtleneck with a button down shirt over it, so I took off the top shirt and wrapped it around my arm and hand. Whereupon a police officer stepped in front of me and said “Sir, would you please put your hands on top of your head.” I looked at him and said “Hunh?” He put his hand on the butt of his weapon and said “Sir, *please* put your hands on top of your head.” So I did and his partner (who was behind me) grabbed my hands and cuffed me. It was then that I remembered that a black shoulder holster is really visible against a white turtleneck. I explained that I had a permit to carry, the officer was telling me that in Minnesota you have to conceal your weapon, and I was trying to politely tell him he was incorrect. He finally got on the radio with someone (and my arm was starting to *really* hurt and the handcuffs weren’t helping) and discovered that he was wrong, which irritated him a bit, so he started lecturing me about how only cops should have guns and “civilians” would only get into trouble if they tried to defend themselves, etc.. And the cuffs were still on, so I asked him if he could please shut-up and let me go since he wasn’t going to arrest me. I also may have used some unfortunate phrasing like “Tax-feeding donut grazing parasite”. At this point he and his partner decided that I was resisting arrest, so they tightened the cuffs more, and shoved my in the back of the squad (“accidently” bashing my head on the way in). The squad was parked at the foot of the driveway, so I had a splendid view as Betty’s pergola fell onto my car, smashing the roof and setting the car on fire. I sat in the back of the squad until the fire was put out completely and firemen and paramedics had departed the scene. At that point the cops let me loose with a stern warning about disrespecting my betters and declinging to take me to the hospital to get my arm looked at. I asked Betty if she could give me a ride and she slapped me and stalked off. Since my hands were completely numb I asked a neighbor to call 9-1-1 for me but she very kindly gave me a lift to the Emergency Room. Where they had to open up the cuts to clean and disinfect them before stitching them up. But the aftermath was *still* not done. Two weeks later I got a letter from my insurance agency saying that because my car was on private property, the homeowner was responsible for the damages, and three weeks after that came the letter from Betty’s insurance company telling me that since the pergola had not yet gotten its building final inspection it was an unauthorized addition to the house and so they would not be paying for my car. And just to add the cherry on top, I later learned that Fluffy had been found unharmed in the basement of the house.