As I sat at an outdoor table in Paris, musing and listening to the life around me, a charming voice stirred me.
"Bonjour, Monsieur. May I sit here? The others are taken."
"Why, yes!" I said, looking at the gentle figure before me.
The beautiful young lady wore a hat; but it was then, when she removed her hat, hiding it from others as she sat, that I saw it — a corkscrew in her forehead.
"You are from...?" she asked.
"Yes...yes," I stammered.
"Where are you from?" she persisted.
"The States... States," I replied, glancing at her eye and back to the corkscrew.
"I would like to go there some day. But I could show you around Paris. First, please, do be gentle and remove the corkscrew," she said. taking my hand and leading it to the horrifying spot.
Everything froze. My heart fell. I didn't want to lose her; but this! I began to pull.
"Stop! You are hurting me!" I thought I heard her whisper.
Never good with corkscrews, I twisted and turned and yanked it. She fainted! Blood poured all over! People screamed. I fled.
From that day on, I could never again look at a corkscrew to open a bottle of wine. Now, I drink only champagne.
(Though mine, I'm not so perverse. The theme was one of several from an association's contest long ago which just flat died. No results given.)
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