What's the story, Wishbone?

Today, I met the protagonist of my next short story.

It is very well, indeed, that I should meet him today, since I had been contemplating the recent drought in my creative writing not but two days ago. I don't really have the time to write a short story, but now that I've met its central character, I have no choice about the matter.

I thought I might kill two birds with one stone by dropping off the video I rented last week from Video Americain (and watched last night, with some friends) while I took Eska for a walk. Of course I knew I would not be allowed to place it in the drop box as long as the store was open, which is why I had hoped I might chance upon someone to return it for me, since I assumed no admittance to the establishment would be granted in canine company.

So as Eska and I approached the video store (which was difficult enough to access, since they are redoing the sidewalks on St. Paul ONLY, conveniently, between 31st and 32nd) and saw no one in the vicinity who might help, I contemplated my options. I could either put the movie in the drop box and just earn the scorn of the video store clerk ... who is extremely cute, and actually remembers my video inquiries from one week to the next ... no dice. OR, I could risk walking into the store WITH Eska and hope for said video store clerk's patience, indulgence, and good humour. He might even be charmed by my pet! Yes, let's do it that way, I thought.

I prepared to descend the four steps leading to the entrance, donning my most alluring smile, when suddenly, a well-dressed man in his early to mid 40s exited the store and - as is customary and now expected - was drawn to the quadruped excitedly leaping in his direction.

This might do. The store clerk won't be charmed, but he won't hate me for dragging wet cement stains into his place of work, either.

"Could you do me a favour?" I asked the sharp stranger, in a move completely out of character, handing him my VCR return.

He just looked at me ....

"Oh, because of the dog ..."
"I can't go in with the dog, you see ..." we said simultaneously.
"Sure. But it's ONLY because that's SUCH a cute dog," he said.

Indeed.

Feminine wiles work wonders, even when they are not mine.

Precisely thirty seconds after this exchange, a storm rolled in that lasted only long enough for the (ultimately, soaked) stranger to get to his car.

Bad karma?

Who cares? I'll write him a glorious ending.