Candles = real fire

Stop me if you've already heard this one through the grapevine; some of my adventures are becoming legendary - you'll see why. One night at the Santorini I was dancing for a full, rowdy house. The location of the band stand and dance floor is smack dab in the middle of the restaurant, and waiters have to keep crossing about you with food. And of course the restrooms are conveniently located to the right of the band. I've actually escorted confused guys to that door just to get them off the stage. Anyway, the second slow segment I bring out my candelabra and put it on my head. Mine isn't the kind with the headband, it's a real candelabra and takes some concentration to balance. Just as I'm descending to the floor (I know you know this is a difficult transition), out of the corner of my eye I see two young Greek guys cutting across the stage. As they pass behind me, one lurches forward at me from behind and blows my candles out! This sudden move while I was midway to the floor startles me, and I jerk back to standing position, spilling hot wax on my skin, my hair, my costume-- all in a space of one second I steady my candelabra on my head, whip around and pop that jerk in the fanny with the top of my foot. Not to hurt him, you understand, just to get his attention. The audience howls, the guy turns around to give me a dirty look (I'm waiting with mine!) and imagine my surprise when I see it's my boss!!! I stare him down, though. Then give a "Humph!" as I turn up my nose, go over to the nearest table, re light my candles and start over. For me, though, the mood was broken. He was waiting for me at the "celebrity" dressing room door after the show, and I beat him to the punch by asking him to step in the office for a moment so I could have a word with him. He was pissed, I could tell, but I lit into him: "What were you trying to do? Set me on fire?? I've got 14 yards of flammable material here-- do you think this isn't real fire???" I told him if I'd known it was him I probably wouldn't have kicked him in the pants, but that I didn't think he was the kind of guy that would act so stupid. He agreed it was a wrong thing to do, but that he didn't think kicking him was a right thing to do. I told him if he didn't mess with my candles I wouldn't kick him. It soon became a friendly sparring topic of conversation between us. One evening he said I'd hurt him, and I replied that if I'd meant to hurt him I would have used the blade of my foot at his kidney level and he wouldn't have peed for a week. I then assured him that although I've been trained to maim and mutilate I refuse to use this knowledge unless bodily threatened. (I'm trained in tai kwan do). Another evening we were talking about marriage partners and he said he wanted a woman who wasn't easily dominated, but not one who'd kick him! I bit my tongue to keep from purring in my best Eartha Kitt voice: "I could make you learn to like it."

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