Darkroom

Don't Eat It, Send It Back

She was someone I could see myself with. Undeniable beauty, impeccable style, sharp wit, sassafras in abundance–a real live one.

The flirtatious banter crescendoed over the weeks, until, at last I decided to dig a little.

I asked her about her most recent act of vengeance. She hesitated as I prodded with curiosity, but disclosed a full account of the event in question.

What a masterful chef she was, for her dish was certainly served cold.

I felt a sense of dejected disorientation, as I mourned the possibility of any romantic future with her. 

The thing with chefs, is that they have the tendency to delight in the dishes they serve, but the years of heartbreak have taught me to watch what I eat.

Needless to say, I won't be pursuing her anymore.

I'm sad. Very sad.

Yes, I AM The Dragon Master, but I am of tender disposition, and I have an affinity for seductive delicacies that afford a sweet aftertaste.