11: 11 PM

After grabbing a bag of shredded Tillamook cheese and a container of guacamole, I find myself standing at a table full of sugary baked goods. Mmmmm. Soft chocolate chip cookies. Gooey cinnamon rolls. Double chocolate fudge brownies. Creamy centered, Hostess Ding Dongs. As I'm drooling over the display of gut-plumping delights, a red-haired man wearing a Seattle Seahawks knit hat and scarf approaches.

"Good idea," he remarks, motioning towards the pastries. "My sweet tooth is stimulated tonight."

"Gotta get those last calories in before resolutions start," I reply with a polite smile.

"Exactly. Resistance is futile."

People in Seattle tend to land somewhere near the crest of the socially awkward bell curve—myself included. On the surface, Seattleites are some of the friendliest people you'll ever meet, but once pleasantries and greetings are over, a wall goes up. Behaviorists call this phenomenon—The Seattle Freeze—a term used to describe the distrust and uneasiness the Northwest tribe feels towards outsiders. Therefore, all these trendy books about timid, low-self esteemed women from the Evergreen State stumbling upon dangerously exciting romances aren't just fiction—they're lies. I don't care if you're a handsome and glittery vampire or an S&M Criminal Minds episode disguised as a billionaire bachelor, cray cray would never get through a Seattle Freeze barrier—not even if a table of yummy baked goods is involved.

In any case, the trench coat wearing Seahawks guy and I fumble through the selection of pastries in awkward silence. It isn't until I notice he's wearing flip flops that my mind starts racing. What exactly did he mean when he said stimulated tonight?

Oh. My. God! Trekkie took out his nuts, I think to myself in anticipation of what I'm sure is about to happen.

I'm just a few feet away from an exhibitionist! I already know this can't possibly turn into a positive situation—mainly because flashers are rarely young, sexy, waxed and sporting six-pack abs. I mean, honestly. If I wanted to see a body covered in hair with a huge gut roll, I'd just go spend the day at the zoo.

Why are you still standing here? Grab the damn Ding Dongs and leave, you fool!

But I don't leave. Instead, I wonder—my thoughts combining images of perverts and pastries. I wonder if the blush cheeked man's nookie-cookie looks like a shelled gooey duck. I wonder what would happen to me psychologically if his cookie were to be lunged into my consciousness like that creepy gingerbread man jumping out of the oven. I also wonder why the Ginger Head Man's nails are painted a candy pink. Is he trying to distract me from his shocking headlining performance by giving off a mysterious sugar and gumdrops vibe? Well, clearly it's working. I'm obviously still standing here pondering the reason for his confectionery claws.

Just as I'm ready to do a 180 and leave the situation so I can avoid thousands of dollars of counseling I can't afford, I hear a voice in my head that's not my own. It sounds like my voice, but the words are not mine. It's my Evil Queen. My internal Darkness.

First she chants, Wait, wait, as long as you can. If you catch a peek, they'll call the officer man. Then the Dark Queen whispers, because that is no ordinary nookie-cookie—it's a wishing nookie-cookie. Just a tiny visual bite of the nookie-cookie, and all your dreams will come true.

You mean my Prince Charming will rescue me? I, the one buying fixings for nachos, ask my dark self.

Yes, darling. Your wish of finding love in a magical way will come true. Think of the handsome officer who will be called to question you about this incident. Imagine him asking you for your address and phone number to include in the police report. Then visualize him using that information to ask you out on a date. Envision the romantic story you will tell your grandchildren of how you met. All you need to do is wait—wait for the Ginger Head Man to expose his nookie-cookie—then take a small, optical bite.

Un-fucking-believable. This might officially make me the most pathetic and desperate person on the face of the planet, aside from Snow White of course. That twit thought eating a lousy piece of magical fruit would summon her prince. A piece of fruit! At least my plan involves criminal activity, not just a bunch of hocus pocus. Well, I'm hoping there's no poking.

I stare at the box of Ding Dongs in the fakest of ways, pretending to read the ingredients and nutritional information. I'm sort of praying shock has something to do with my current state of petrification. Logically, I know I should be getting my ass out of this predicament—but I don't move. Clearly I'm so desperate for a life that's actually interesting to talk about, I'll subject myself to a walking floor show.

C'mon Mister Seahawk! Let's see cock and get this over with!

Slowly, the Ginger Head Man turns towards me and flashes a crooked smile. My eyes glance towards his flip-flops, then return back to the list of impossible to read unnatural ingredients. I can't even look him in the eyes. I'm not even sure if I'll be able to look him in the other eye. One Eyed Willys always creep me out. I'm such a Goonie.

Ginger chuckles as he looks down at his feet. He wiggles his toes playfully in his sandals then reaches for the opening of the trench coat. Focusing even more intently on my Ding Dong box reading, I can feel my heartbeat quicken. The room seems to sway a little and everything appears to be moving in slow motion. What was I thinking? This was a terrible idea. There has to be better ways to get a date with a law enforcement officer!

My peripheral vision sees a set of fingers grip one side of Ginger's unbuttoned jacket. A hand slowly pulls the trench coat outward. There's no escaping now. The nookie-cookie monster is coming out to play. Ginger Head Man has popped out of the oven and he's exposing himself to me and the innocent display of precious carbohydrates. The man in a trench coat and flip flops is flashing his—Seattle Seahawks board shorts to the entire world.

Well, God damn it! That was completely anticlimactic.

"Laundry day," he laughs.

I smile politely, clearly not as amused as Ginger is about the situation. Feelings of disappointment are flooding my being, and I suddenly realize why. I was six inches away from an epic Facebook status update, and this non-flasher had to ruin it. What an asshole!

A little girl no more than four years old comes running up to the Ginger Head Man and grabs his hand.

"Daddy! Me show you! Me show you, Daddy!"

Ginger chuckles at the child's overwhelming excitement and gently rubs her cheek. "What do you need to show me, Munchkin?"

I watch as the tiny girl in pigtails clutches her father's trench coat and drags him towards the child-friendly display of New Year's Eve poppers and noisemakers. Someone in sales knows exactly who to market those holiday trinkets to.

Without knowing it, my Perspective Genie grants an unexpected wish and alters my point of view. I begin to give myself the third degree. Why are you so cynical? Seriously. When did you become so cynical towards the world and the people in it? When did loving fathers become candy-coated flashers? When did beautiful girls become stepsister whores? And when did men become silly wooden puppets just because they aren't interested in dating you?

Clearly, these new questions give me a lot think about. But before I can process my new perceptions, I need to solve the mystery as to why a random 80's song is playing on repeat in my head. It's like the Ginger Head Man and his daughter have their own personal soundtrack as I watch them make their way to the grocery store's checkout counter. ZZ Top's, Sharp Dressed Man, wouldn't be my first choice for the man in flip flops—but apparently something in my subconscious thinks it's a perfect match.   

https://youtu.be/7wRHBLwpASw

*********NACHO BREAK*********

80's videos are so terrible--they're awesome! Is there a music video you'd nominate for Cheesiest of All Time? (I can't seem to get away from the topic of cheese. I just love cheese!)

If you enjoyed this chapter, PLEASE give it a vote by making that little star turn from white to yellow. And leave a comment if there was something that made you laugh. I'd love to hear from you! Muah!

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