I’m a nice girl, I promise. I’m usually quite well-behaved, and I don’t get kicked out of pubs. Might have come close this weekend though, what with one thing and another, but then Waldo would offer to arm wrestle with the pint sized power house (That’s me).
One should not let the youth (that’s Waldo) treat their elders lightly, and I wasn’t going to give in without a fight. Respect: that’s what its about, young man, take that! My hand might all but disappear in your ginormous paw, but you will fight for this victory if its to be yours! And of course, I can’t pass up the challenge, can’t have the lad thinking I’m a wuss or something…
So when he put his arm down on the table with hand held just so that you know it’s a challenge, I took the hand firmly and the challenge with fervor. The arms were just beginning to tremble as our muscles tensed and the battle had just begun in earnest when… the table gave way with a sudden, loud cracking sound (at first I thought it was Waldo’s arm), drinks went a-sliding and folks were either fielding their glasses like top class cricketers after the winning ball or jumping out of the way of toppling booze.
Yes, I know its not to my credit: breaking furniture in bars, and so I probably shouldn’t tell you that later on in the evening, Candice and I ended up dancing on the bar stools (fortunately without casualties) because I wouldn’t dance on the counter, having been convinced of my ability to destroy counter-tops or tables. No, I won’t tell you about that, or you might begin to think me a hooligan, and I’m not. Honest