The Butcher, the Baker, and the Candle Stick Maker

I have a friend who shall remain nameless (although if you met her she'd probably tell you this story proudly) who lives on my side of town.  A few weeks ago, we had planned on grabbing dinner together, but when my cold escalated to a pretty nasty cough I texted her to reschedule. She promptly responded with, "That's okay. I'm on the way to the butcher right now anyways.  He's cute, so I'm stopping at my house to put on makeup."  Butcher?  I had no idea we had a butcher in our neighborhood... Could "butcher" be code for something?  The rest of our messages went like this:

me: Butcher?? As in the man who cuts your meat?
friend: Yes, he's new in town.
me: Do you have a cobbler too?
friend: No. Should I make one for him? How do you flirt? Is that how?
me: No. I meant like a man who does your shoes. I was joking.
friend: OMG. Good thing we cleared that up, I was already going through my pantry.

At this point, she called me and over switching loads of laundry in my garage I belly laughed at the possibility of my friend taking a warm cobbler to the butcher, all while dressed in fresh makeup, batting her eyes, and using her best southern drawl.

We hung up, she went to the butcher's (sans cobbler), and went on with her life.  But upon further evaluation, I think I may have misled her... what guy wouldn't want a pretty gal bringing them a cobbler at work?  What better way to outwardly say, "Welcome to the neighborhood... Happy New Year's..." while silently saying, "I can cook, and I'm hot, and I'm clearly available if I had the time to make you this cobbler." 

Damn.  I should have thought this thing through.  Friend, if you're reading this... go make the man a cobbler... Seriously.

I dare you.



mae