Now you're not the only one who's had a long, arduous work week. Martha herself is feeling testy and replies curtly, "I only use fresh fruits sourced locally and rhubarb is not in season right now."
It becomes your challenge to coax a smile from Martha's rosebud lips; however, your response of, "Well then I guess I'll have to keep buying pies until the Fall," falls woefully short when Martha replies, "Rhubarb is in season in May around these parts," in clipped tones.
You focus the conversation towards the quality of Martha's pies and how the fresh fruits add a certain je-ne-sais-quoi. You feel asinine and foolish, but you won't give up. Martha cautiously becomes more animated and eventually some lively flirting starts taking place.
During the course of the conversation, the gloomy weather worsens and rain descends on the coastal city. Time slips effortlessly away as you bring Martha out of her shell. Just in time to see you exchange phone numbers with Martha, a furious, soaking wet Gina storms into the patisserie.
Knowing that you frequent Martha's establishment and angry that you were late in meeting her for the poetry slam, pro-bike-lanes Gina rode downtown to meet up with you.
"What the hell?" she yells. "You couldn't even bother to show up on time for the poetry slam--and you know how important that is to me--so I rode uphill to meet you, got soaking wet and now find you hitting on 'Little Debbie'?"
In her rage, Gina starts peeling off her rain gear and exposes her 'Cycling in the City...Exhausts Me' tee-shirt. Rain had soaked through her coat and Gina was gesticulating that her wetness was a sacrifice she'd made just for you.
"Look," you say, "it's not my fault you bought cheap, knock-off 'Nelly Janzen' rain gear. And, you've always known I don't care about biking like you do." You run your fingers through your hair in exasperation and shrug. Your "I just don't know....." comment trails off and a significant silence lingers in the air.