Digits

She sat alone in the corner of the cafe, tapping away at her laptop and nervously eying her purse every few seconds.

A young man approached, and noticed her.

“You should give me your digits,” he said, oblivious to the intrusion on her writing.

She looked up, startled at his arrival.

“My digits?” she said. “Why?”

“Because you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh,” she said, smiling. He thought he heard a sigh of relief, which puzzled him. She batted her eyelashes. “That’s nice of you. How many do you want?”

He chuckled. He loved a girl with a sense of humor.

“Um,” he said, “ten?”

“Sure,” she said. “Hang on a sec.”

She opened her purse, and pulled out a small white object, which she placed on the cafe table next to her tea cup. It was roughly the size of a pencil, broken in half.

She reached in again, rummaging through items in her purse.

“No,” she muttered. “Not that one.”

She pulled out another small white object, and placed it next to the first.

It was his turn to be puzzled. He stepped closer.

His face slowly turned the exact shade of white as the objects she was placing on the table.

“There!” she said finally. “That’s ten! All yours.”

He stared at the severed fingers and toes, which she’d arranged neatly in a row.

He cleared his throat, and hurried away without explaining the miscommunication.

She cocked her head to the side as she watched the door hiss shut behind him.

“Sigh,” she said, without actually sighing. “I’ll never understand men.”

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s