Restaurant Dessert Menu

"Do we want dessert?" he says, his eyes slowly dancing along the table, past the finished entrees and glasses of water, soaked with condensation.

"I am full, but if you get something, we can definitely share." she replies, ever-coy.

"Well." he reaches for the menu.

His fingers touch the slick surface. O! How dangerous our world! He recoils in horror.

Minutes later, the antsy waitress, tired of her Sunday shift, returns.

"And, have you made a decision?" she asks. Somehow, she knows the answer to this question.

"No, thank you."

Asphalt (Fresh)

Downtown Santa Monica, California, is currently enjoying some urban renewal, including the repaving of some sidewalks, with asphalt apparently. I was running some errands (purchasing cold weather gear if you must know, nosey reader) and I stepped on the new sidewalk, only to discover that it was fresher than I had supposed. Oh man asphalt it the worst on the soles of shoes. It gets into the waffle grids. Arrgh.

Used Gum/Possible Silly Putty?

I was proctoring an exam, and I stepped in something I initially dismissed as just someone's discarded chewing gum. That's when things got weird. See, when I went to move it to a trash receptacle, I noticed that while yeah, it was sticky, it wasn't sticky like gum. It reminded me of silly putty, that delightful children's pink goo that bounces and stretches and picks up inkprint. I didn't want to smell it, because that'd be gross, so the jury is out on what it was. It was sticky, and now it's in the garbage. I should buy some silly putty! I miss that.

Late Night Diner Hot Sauce

Sitting at the counter of a Los Angeles area diner, I was trying to move a variety of items and clear out an eating space. There was a platter of cupcakes (initially I thought they were patriotic-themed, but I was scolded for my snap judgment) and the standard set if dinner condiments, including an overly large pepper mill. My mistake was touching the crown of the "Tapatío" brand hot sauce. Turns out, users of hot sauce can be a messy bunch, and the glass was sticky with a kind of filthy stickiness. Such is my life. The man on the bottle, I could swear, winked at me. Bastard.

Bus Stop Pole

We have previously covered bus stop stickiness before, but this was actually a surprise to the author. See, the sticky portion of this pole actually started at about seven feet up. Boy, was it sticky, too. I hope that it was in this state because some sticky vigilante has been finding out of the way places to ply his trade. I can see him cackling as he wipes the top of this pole with dollar store maple syrup. I can see his mask, his cape, his thick leather gloves. He probably blogs about his experiences, and if you were to read that blog (thingsivemadesticky.blogspot.com?), you would be looking into my very specific future!