By Laurie Wells (Ponoka, AB)

It was our first date.

Do you have hair on your doink, he asked.  I suffered a total loss of words.  My mind raced.  Oh my god, what's a doink?  Is he referring to a very personal part of my anatomy?  No, that couldn't be.  Who'd be that rude?  My face reddened.  I stared at my feet.  I shuffled them.

He broke the agonizing silence with a laugh.  He assured me doink referred to the skin between my thumb and forefinger.

Oh, I said.  I didn't share his amusement.  This didn't feel like a gauche teenage attempt at humor, it felt like he had lifted the hem of my dress and peeked underneath.

So do you? he pressed.  My inner intuition bristled.  There was a creepy undertone to his question.  What did he want me to say?  The joke was over.  We were over.  I never wanted to see him again.

Comments are closed.