keeping it moist

coney
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

this past summer i went to dairy queen with a friend. i ordered my favorite - the chocolate-dipped cone.

gimme gimme gimme gimme... my outstretched fingers grappled for the cone.

"what is up?" my friend asked.

i looked at him like he was nuts. "you gotta eat the top part while the chocolate is still... moist."

"moist?" he laughed with his dumb dilly bar.

it wasn't the most correctest choice of words, but i received my ice cream cone before it hardened - while it was, indeed, still moist.


this past christmas, while visiting with some friends, we discovered that our predetermined meeting place was closed.

"let's just go to starbucks," one of us conceded.

"there's never any room. there won't be any room," said one of us.

but there never is anywhere else to go. we went to starbucks.

upon arrival, all four of us peered in the window.

"no room. see," said the same naysayer.

"how about that middle table that doubles as a chess board?" i suggested.

but then we all noticed that the prime real estate chairs, the "fancy" chairs by the window, were available.

"krista! go get them. go save those fancy chairs!" my friend instructed.

i took off after those chairs like a dog after a stick.

as i strewed my personal belongings across the chairs to indicate their occupancy, i noticed that one of them had a newspaper on it, which, when removed, revealed a dark spot.

concerned for the person who was to sit there, and without any forethought, i inserted my finger into the middle of the stain to verify if it was fresh.

moist it was.

it also dawned on me what the origin of this stain could be.

my friend approached.

"um, this chair has something on it,” i indicated while my index finger hung limply.

"oh, no. someone relieved himself on the chair. we're not staying."

"i stuck my finger in it," i disclosed as we walked to our third destination.

"krista, why did you touch a urine-soaked chair?"

"i wanted to see if it was moist," my sullied finger dangled in the winter air.

"you know," my friend postulated, "any situation that prompts you to ask 'is it moist?' cannot be good."

“where's your antibacterial gel?” i asked, deflated.