It was a brisk fall evening on the night my professor told me, “Never start a story with the weather.” His voice, calm and stern, was unlike any other 70 year-old man I had met before. He always had an appeal to him, regardless of distinctly smelling like a vitamin-B supplement. But now, alone in his office, I was intrigued – I had never kissed an older man before. My inner thoughts resembled something that only occurs on the Spike television network. He was the storage unit I wanted, and I wouldn’t let any bald-headed brothers get in my way. I was ready to make a move. My mind raced as it searched for a way to draw him into my web of lust. Thinking back to the success of my last rendezvous, I asked him if he wanted to get a drink at Fiddle Faddle – the country bar downtown. How could any man refuse the offer: “body shots on me” (both literally and that I would be paying for them)? To no surprise, he accepted, and we headed to the parking lot. He suggested that I drive, joking that the transportation bureau had terminated his license due to his age. I’ve always adored a guy who could make me laugh.
On the way to Fiddle Faddle, our flirting was interrupted by a ride-check program on highway 69 (talk about the irony). Though the police officer was a doppelganger for Mitt Romney, I held back my hormones to show my professor that I was taking our relationship seriously. Still, the officer tempted me with, “Drink tonight Ma’am?” I sternly responded, “No thanks,” and drove away rapidly. I was impressed with my strength. Usually, I would have caved, but I had a feeling I already had a man with a weapon in his pants. As I looked back in my rear-view mirror, I saw red and blue lights flashing. My first thought, “Officer Hotbuns likes a woman who plays hard to get” was quickly extinguished as it came to my attention that I was pulled over for my previous “smart-ass” answer. Professor Rogers (?) and I were asked to get out of the car, where suddenly, the attention was no longer on me. After getting a good look at the professor, the officer called for backup. Soon, my date was being carried away by a swat team (okay, three police women) and I was brought in for questioning. Apparently, my professor had been on the Most Wanted list for stealing cases of vitamin-B from Shoppers Drug mart for the purpose of selling them to his elderly friends. That explained the smell. After providing a statement, I was told that I would not be seeing the professor for a very long time and given a lecture to find out the man’s name before I a) go on a date with him and 2) accept to providing a statement. I then asked if they had any advice on where I could go to find a cute guy, and they asked me to leave. I was at a standstill, so I asked officer Mitt Romney to escort me to Fiddle Faddle for a drink. He said he was married, to a man.
All in all, I am happy to have shared this experience with Professor (something with an H, I swear) but a lesson has been learned – always bring shot glasses and peach schnapps with you when getting your essay revised. You never know what could happen on the way to the bar.

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