I have a favorite watering hole. When I go out drinking, it's almost always to one particular bar. It's sort of a meat market/nightclub kind of place. It's almost always crowded so it's basically the best place in the city for peoplewatching.

A few years ago I saw this young woman with a very definitive style. She was about 5'6", curvy in all the right places, and had a very pretty face. She was white but had just a hint of a summer tan. She was wearing a plain blue shirt with jeans that were baggy in some places and tight in others. In short, she looked really good and she knew how to dress. But her most distinctive feature was her cornrows.

Her brown hair was in perfect cornrows that fell to the small of her back. The effect was very urban. So in my smallish city, she really stood out in the crowd. I saw her and immediately thought, "Now there's somebody different. I must talk to her."

So I harnessed my inner pimp and slid beside her. I smiled brightly and said simply, "Hi."

She responded politely enough with a "Hello," and then gave me that unintentionally withering look that women always give when they're in a bar and waiting for a man to signal his intentions.

"I love your hair. It's incredible."

Apparently this was one of the keys to the kingdom because she immediately lit up. She briefly touched my bicep while she said, "Thank you! That's so sweet of you to say."

Did you know I can dodge bullets, Matrix-style? It's true. I can. I've never actually tried it, but I assume I can dodge bullets because I already know I can slow down time. I've done it many times. Unfortunately I always waste my bullet-time skills on rapid fire thinking. This was one of those times.

A man near the bar dropped his beer. The bottle hung suspended a few inches below his outstretched hand. The "smoke" from the dry ice machine under the DJ booth became motionless, like a photo of a cloud. A fly hovered nearby, its wings beating impossibly slowly, its buzzing reduced to a single low tone.

In a single second, I thought "Wow, this woman is slammin'. I would kill or die to be with her. But wait… Girlfriend. And The Kid. I have a family. I shouldn't even think that kind of thing. But oh my God is this woman a hottie. And look at the way she's smiling at me. And that way she touched my arm. This is completely possible. Damn, what am I thinking? That would be disastrous. I'd lose my family. And quite possibly my life. And even if I get away with it, how could I do that to Girlfriend? I love her. She trusts me. How would I feel if she did this to me? No, I just can't do anything like that. There's just no way I could possibly justify that. I couldn't live with myself. And I have far too much to lose. I don't care how fine she is, there's no way she could possibly be worth it. So what can I do? Can I flirt? No, that's not cool either. Girlfriend would definitely not approve. Besides, that's probably too much temptation. But what do I say? That little touch… there's already a bit of sexual tension. I guess I have to quash that. But how do I do that in such a way that she'll still want to talk to me? I think I'll just be honest. I'll just say what I want to say. If I'm lucky, she'll find it funny and refreshing. Plus, it should adjust her expectations so we can just talk. Ok. So I'm just going to say it."

Time sped up again. The bottle hit the floor with a crash. The smoke resumed its low swirl. The fly buzzed away.

I said what I was thinking. "That's not really your hair, is it?"

For just a brief moment she was shocked. I assumed she was thinking something like, "Did I hear that right? Did he really just say that?" Then she laughed and I knew things were going to work out just the way they should. "A little of it is mine. Maybe a third of it."

"Well it looks fantastic. Where did you get it done? I don't think I've seen any salons around here that seem like they could do something like this." Which was really just a delicate way of saying that there were no salons that catered to black women.

"I had it done this morning. A French African woman did it for me."

"French African? Do you mean a French woman from Africa, or an African woman from a former French colony?"

"The second," she said. "She doesn't have a salon or anything; she just works out of her house. She's so cool. But she hardly speaks any English at all."

"So she speaks French then?"

"Yes, she does. Her accent is a little tough to follow sometimes."

"Am I to assume that you speak French as well?"

She gave this little smirk that I interpreted to mean "Oh thank you! I so seldom get to brag about this." She said, "Yes, I do. I studied French in college and I lived in Paris for a few months."

"Nice. I know maybe five words in French. And I probably pronounce them all wrong."

"Well, tell me what words you know and I'll tell you how you're pronouncing them."

"Dammit. I should have seen this coming," I thought. I could only think of one thing. So I said, "Je t'aime."

That one got a big grin out of her. "That's pretty close, but it's more like this…"

So we went back and forth a few times until I got it just right. I thought, "Have I crossed a line here?" I decided it was best to move on.

"I never took any French classes. I studied Spanish instead."

"Yeah? Are you fluent?"

"Eh, mas o menos."

"Say something in Spanish." She looked at me expectantly.

Do you believe in demonic possession? I never used to, but that night made me a believer. Azazel himself was in the bar that night. Quite unexpectedly, he stuck his hand up my ass and worked my mouth like I was some kind of sick puppet.

Using my mouth, Azazel said, "Tienes pelo hermoso. ¿Envolvolo mi pene y orino abajo su espalda?" I was shocked that I'd actually said it. I wasn't drunk, not even a little. I panicked. I was expecting the splash of her drink to hit my face any second. But better her drink than her fist. I would have a really hard time explaining a black eye or a jagged ring cut. Especially since an honest explanation would include the confession that I deserved to be slugged.

Much to my relief, she laughed. I mean really laughed. Long and loud and with complete abandon. At least I wasn't taking a Captain and Coke shower. But if she laughed like that, that means that she also speaks Spanish. "Oh shit. What the hell did I just do?!"

She got her laughter under control and said, "Si, puedes."

She could have said, "I am a hermaphrodite," or "I hope you have enough goats for the dowry," or "I wear my hair long to hide the stubby third arm growing out of my back," or just about anything else and I would have been less surprised than I was at the answer she actually gave.

"So you also speak Spanish."

Still smiling broadly she said, "Yes, I do."

"Well, I really wish I'd known that three minutes ago."

She gave me a very inviting look and said, "Well, it's all working out for you anyway."

At this point I cursed my luck. This was (and to date still is) my smoothest seduction ever. And it was completely accidental. I had resolved that I would not even flirt with her. And here she was, waiting for my final move. It was effortless, it was natural. And if I didn't do something right now, I was going to end up doing something really, really stupid.

So I said, "Excuse me a moment." I turned away without waiting for a response. Out of the corner of my eye I caught the beginnings of a "what the hell are you doing?" look on her face.

I wandered over to where I'd left Sister and told her everything that had happened.

Her eyebrows kept rising higher as I unfurled the story. "Ok, let me get this straight. You complimented her hair, then kind of insulted her by asking if it was a weave?"

"Yeah."

"Then you spent a few minutes saying 'I love you' in French to each other?"

"Yeah."

"Then she asked you to speak Spanish and the only thing you could think of was 'You have beautiful hair. Can I wrap it around my penis and pee down your back?' "

"Yeah."

"And her response was 'Yes, you can?' "

"Yeah."

"So you successfully, but accidentally, seduced her?"

"Yeah."

"And you didn't know what to do, so now you're standing here talking to me?"

"Yeah."

"Good boy, Fish. I'd hate to have to kick your ass on Girlfriend's behalf."

"So what do I tell her?"

"Why the hell are you asking me?"

"I dunno. So, umm… ok. I'm goin' in."

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Yeah."

So when I caught up with Cornrows again, she was standing at the bar sipping a fresh drink.

I stood next to her and said, "So…"

She cut me off before I had a chance to get any further. She said, "Hang on a second." And then she turned completely around to show me her back. There was nothing at all to see in the direction she'd turned. There was no clock to check, no one to talk to. The message could not possibly have been more clear.

I'd just been given the brush-off. This was the first time I'd seen this particular brush-off. I found it smooth, clever, and surprisingly funny. I couldn't help but laugh. I touched her shoulder and leaned in a bit so that she could hear me.

"That was very funny, and actually a bit elegant." She said nothing, and in fact gave no indication that she'd even heard me. "Good evening to you," I said. I stood up straight again and slipped away.

I immediately found Sister and told her what happened.

"Sweet!" she said. "I'm going to have to remember that one. I doubt I'll ever have the nerve to blow off a guy like that. So what's her name anyway?"

"Umm… I dunno."

"You don't know?"

"I never asked."

She paused for a moment. "How many drinks did you buy her?"

"None."

"Wait… you accidentally seduced that woman… in less than ten minutes… without ever asking her name… and without even buying her a drink?"

"Umm… yeah."

"Fish, that will never happen to you again. And if you were single, it probably wouldn't have happened now either."

"Yeah, I know." My most shining bachelor moment came at a time when I was not a bachelor. Irony, thy name is Cornrows. "Shit. I need another beer."

If you listen closely, you can still hear Sister laughing.