Based on a True Story

The Noodle Bowl Incident

                              By Pete Schulte

It was that window of time when many of his friends were having their first weddings. Lonny had been to several weddings during the year and here was another. Now it’s the reception, now it’s supposed to be fun, but he had business to attend to first. He’d kept running into his old high school chum, Lauren, at these things and tonight was no different. What Lonny needed to do was to get with Lauren early before she started talking shit about him. It was so embarrassing, being laughed at for something he didn’t even do. Lonny was determined to clear up their misunderstanding once and for all. He found her admiring the wedding cake in the corner. He got her attention straight away. She wasn’t going anywhere. “Lauren, what a pleasure to see you again.”

“Oh, Lonny, did you happen to drive here?” she asked.

“I did.”

“Well, I hope you were careful this time.”

“Yes, Lauren,” said Lonny, holding back his irritation. “I was very careful. In fact, driving is something I wanted to discuss with you before the party begins, before either of us has had anything to drink.”

“Please,” said Lauren. “Let us discuss.”

“Lauren, it seems you’ve had some great fun at my expense these last few receptions relaying a story about you seeing me driving my car while eating a noodle bowl situated between my legs. Is that correct?”

“Yes, it’s always funny even when you’re saying it.”

“And I’m steering the car with my thighs, right?”

“Yes. Yes!”

“That the thing is, Lauren, that wasn’t me. You see, I pride myself on being a safe driver, a defensive driver. I would never text and drive let alone drive a car with my thighs while eating a noodle bowl. I fear that you’re telling and retelling this story could cause me grave repercussions if ever my insurance agent catches wind of this yarn. Why, they could raise my insurance rates or cancel me altogether and send me to another less reputable agency. That would be most devastating. Also, though I am a fan of Asian food, I prefer to eat my meals at dining establishments or in the comfort of my own home. I do not wolf down food in my car, certainly not something as potentially messy as a noodle bowl. I’m thinking there’s a possibility that this encounter on the road was all a dream to you, as old friends do pop up from time to time in dream imagery. It’s also possible that this is merely a fantasy you’ve concocted, which is understandable as we are in the midst of the wedding season and emotions tend to be lighthearted and gay…”

“So, Lonny, you think it’s a fantasy of mine to see you riding in your car with a noodle bowl between your legs and steering the car with you thighs?”

“Well, perhaps not a libidinous fantasy, but a fantasy to amuse yourself with nevertheless.”

“But you do drive an older model green Honda?”

“Yes Lauren, but there are many of those on the road today.”

“And you do wear those dorky glasses and for some reason wear your baseball cap backwards?”

“As do so many men my age...”

“That was you, motherfucker! You noodle bowl eating motherfucker!”

“Lauren, don’t be crass.”

“That was you eating that noodle bowl between your legs. That was you, Lonny. Just admit it.”

“Now Lauren, I’ve stated my case plainly and sincerely and I want for you to cease and desist at once. Consider this matter case closed.”

“I thought you might say that, Lonny, since you were getting a bit testy at our last meeting. So I must tell you that when our cars came upon the street light I took some pictures.”

“You took pictures of this?”

“And I blew them up.”

“You blew them up? What are you, a psycho?”

“And I brought them here with me. Would you like to see them, Lonny? Close up?”

“Oh shit,” he said, as she took the pictures from her purse and smoothed them out in front of him. “Listen, I was hungry. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten all day. It was just one time. You must believe me, Lauren. You do believe me, don’t you? How can we make this go away? Please, tell me how we can make this go away.”

“Well,” she said, “at all of these receptions not one person has asked me to dance. I think asking me to dance would be a good start.”

It was a good start. One dance led to a second, and then a second to a third. Then there was the chicken dance and the hokey-pokey. After that a slow dance to end the evening. And then there were dates, there were promises, there was love, and then their own wedding. And the noodle bowl incident was never brought up again.

The end.