Okay, you convinced me. (Actually, the truth is.. nothing cheers me up like a good dating story)
So, let me set the scene. (BTW, I suck at exposition which is why I write for three year olds.)
Manhattan. Late nineties. I am madly infatuated with a guy named Warren. I haven't read Twilight, but I imagine he had the same effect on me that Edward had on Bella. He made me swoon.
One night we are having drinks in a candlelit bar on the upper east side. The bar has a front room and a back room and we are standing alone in the corridor connecting the two. The attraction is so strong that our wine glasses end up on a ledge and we start kissing.
Suddenly, I am ripped from my reverie, by a busboy who starts whacking me on the back, neck, and shoulders. Even in my buzzed stupor, I think, "Only in NYC could I be attacked by a busboy!"
I turn to him and say, "What are you doing?"
And he says, "Putting out the fire. You hair was on fire!"
Yup, folks. It's true! Unbeknownst to me, my hair had caught on a candle flame that was sitting on the ledge.
Must have been some kiss, huh?