Nutcracker 1, Numb Nuts 0

Pizza Guy: Hey, how you doin’?

Me: Good, thanks.

Pizza Guy: I was thinkin’, you wanna have dinner this Friday night?

Me: Well, I’d like to have dinner every night. Don’t you?

Pizza Guy: Aw c’mon. You’re making this hard for me, why you gotta bust my bawls?

Cause someone has to make sure you still have them! Took you long enough to ask me out!!

Me: Force of habit.

Pizza Guy: Huh? You like to break guys’ balls?

Me: They don’t call me Nutcracker for nothing.

FYI: No one calls me that, though I could be.

Pizza Guy: Huh? The Nutcracker? You into those little wooden soldiers that cracks…..oooohhh!!! I get it! You’re pretty funny!

And you’re pretty slow.

Me: Yeah, thanks.

Pizza Guy: Well, so how about it? You wanna have dinner wid me on Friday?

Me: Oh! *feigning surprise* Um….no. I can’t. I got plans this whole weekend.

I plan on re-arranging my dvd collection in chronological order…..anything to stay indoors and outside of the heat and away from you.

Pizza Guy: Oh, you sure? It’s a one time offer.

Or what, pal? I lose out on some good pizza lovin’?!? I don’t think so.

Me: Oh, no, I can’t change my plans. Darn!


Pizza Guy: Okay. But hey, for you, maybe I can make you another offer….an offer you can’t refuse. *wink wink*

Run, Beth! Ruuuun!!

Me: Uhh….okay. So I’ll just grab this Coke, I gotta get back to work.

Pizza Guy: Okay, you have a nice day, and I’ll see ya tomorrow!


Thanks to this guy who works at the pizzeria in the first floor of our building, I now have to find another place to buy my pizza and get my “afternoon cocktail.” (An afternoon cocktail is a Coke and rum without the rum that we accountants, at least in my firm, drink around 3pm. It’s our coffee break.)

I got an inkling that he was interested in me around tax season when he started being really friendly with me. I’ve been eating pizza at their place since I started working in our firm almost two years ago. Not everyday, of course, but often enough for him to know what my favorites are. And he’s only now asking me out.

He’s sorta good-looking, in a very (now, how do I say this politely?) Italian-American way. But, as you can tell, he’s not exactly the brightest crayon in the box, you know? And remember that list of things I want in a man? Well, he can only do one thing on that list – cook.

But boy can he cook! I’ve seen him toss around that pizza dough a couple of times, and I’m ashamed to say, it’s pretty hot. If only he wasn’t so dumb!

Fortunately, he didn’t seem too disappointed about it, though I probably should’ve nipped it in the bud right then. I can only hope he doesn’t make another offer.

I gotta admit, though, it was one heck of an ego boost to turn him down. It’s a rare occasion for me to say no to a guy. Wait, that didn’t come out right. I mean, I hardly reject a guy who’s asking me out. Why? Well because I’m hardly asked out anyway. And when I do get asked out, I’m like, “Me? Are you tawking to me?”

Well, that wasn’t too bad. Could’ve been worse. I could’ve said yes and then end up changing my mind and so I’d have to write him a note and tie it to a rock and throw that rock through the window of his pizzeria. Or something to that effect.

Ps. I can’t seem to come up with a title for this post. Any suggestions?


~ by Binibining Beth on June 8, 2005.

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