The Dip Stick

Chocolate covered peanuts. Chocolate covered macadamias. Chocolate covered almonds. 

She loved them all.

What better way to celebrate Valentine's Day with his girlfriend, thought Ricky Rouse. He tucked his wallet into the well worn back right pocket of his Levi's, hopped happily into his modified, street-wise Pontiac Grand Prix and squealed off in the direction of the grocery store. Tonight would be a night she would never forget.

Ricky entered the store and headed directly for the baking supplies section, pausing briefly to admire the Valentine flowers for sale. Roses. Dozens and dozens. Darkly passionate reds, happy pinks, pure whites and even vibrant yellow. His eyes threw his memory into reverse, back to Valentine's Day of last year. What a disaster it had been. He had bought Ruby three dozen of the most beautiful roses that he could find. Truth be told they were not difficult to find, a vendor was selling them out of the trunk of his car at a local intersection. He remembered handing the roses to Ruby in her apartment, how proudly romantic he had been at that moment. He could still see Ruby grabbing the roses, fumbling them awkwardly before accidentally dropping one of the bunches. He could see her hand, accelerating toward the plummeting dozen and snatching them before they crashed onto the floor. He could hear her scream and see the dark blood pouring from her punctured hands. The tears, long since dried, were still wet in his mind. The trip to the emergency department still fresh. A prickly mess. This year was going to be different.

Ricky, feeling light in his high top Reeboks, cruised jubilantly down the aisle toward the land of Betty Crocker. He found the chocolate chips of which he had been having frequent fantasies. So many choices. White. Dark. Butterscotch. Semi-sweet. He was lost in thought when he heard a voice from behind.

"Baking cookies Ricky?", said a rake thin thirty year old topped with a Nascar hat. A Budweiser logo and a large number 8 told the world that Chip liked beer and fast cars or, at least, he got a free hat with his last case of Bud. He was Ricky's best friend.

"Well, not exactly", said Ricky to Chip's query.

"Whatcha makin' then?'", said a probing Chip.

"Can't tell ya." Ricky tried desperately to withhold his genius from Chip.

"C'mon dipstick", said Chip. "We're best buds. You can tell me anything."

All Ricky heard was the word dipstick. Dipstick! If Chip only knew.

"Gotta go" said a fleeing Ricky, a bag of semi-sweet chips in each hand. Ricky raced down the aisle, banked a sharp left at the end and headed for the checkout. He paused at the checkout lineup, pondering his choice of chocolate. Maybe he should have got the dark chocolate, after all, once you've had black you never go back. He laughed out loud to the bewiderment of those in line ahead of him. He grinned, shrugged his shoulders and thought about becoming a human dipstick. The human dipstick. And getting laid.

Although Ricky's mind was clearly on dessert, he did manage to prepare a special meal for Ruby. Pizza. But not just any pizza, this was gourmet. Instead of regular pizza sauce he blended in a touch of Smokey Joe's bbq rib sauce and he opted for real, grated mozzerella cheese in lieu of the cheese slices which were, quite frankly, much less of a hassle and likely just as tasty. But tonight was going to be a special night so the hassle was worth it. The pizza was ready for the oven. Ruby was scheduled to arrive in half an hour. Time to melt the chocolate. Ricky tore open the packages and poured them into a small soup pot, placing the front burner on high and stirring with erotic, manic vigor. When the mixture turned to liquid he took the pot from the stove and poured and scrapped the creamy contents into a grapefruit sized bowl. The kitchen smelled of sweet success. The voice inside Ricky's head kept whispering "See, you don't need to get your grade 12 to be a genius. You da man!"

Ricky left the kitchen and turned the stereo on. Flipping through his CDs he came across exactly what he was looking for...the 20 Top Country Love Songs Of All Time. He placed the disk in the slot and skipped to song three, I Melt, by Rascall Flatts. He returned to the kitchen, seized another can of  Bud and then peeked at the chocolate. It was as stiff as Ricky hoped to be later. He hadn't realized the chocolate would harden so quickly. Discouraged, he popped it back in the pot and cranked the stove back to life. Soon it had melted again.

Ricky hadn't clearly thought through the logistics of how exactly he would coat his nuts in chocolate and then surprise Ruby. He only knew that it was going to be the most memorable Valentine's Day ever. His jeans and underwear slid off his hips and dropped to the floor. They were brushed to the corner of the kitchen like an afterthought. He felt strange yet deliciously free to be standing in his kitchen, naked more or less from the waist down. He did still have his socks on, white with two thin red stripes above the ankle. He could smell the pizza bubbling away in the oven, fighting to be noticed over the all consuming scent of the chocolate. Chocolate! It was time to coat the boys.

In his youth Ricky would often pour hot wax onto his skin and watch it harden. Could this be much different, he mused. He thought of pouring the chocolate over his parts but it had the potential to make a terrible mess. Aha. He would dip the lads into the pot, clearly that made the most sense. The pot was filled nearly to the brim thus facilitating a painless candy coating.  Like most people, Ricky had never dipped his privates into a soup pot full of chocolate before. Clearly he was charting new territory, for himself and for all the would-be cupids out there. He spread his feet wide apart, his knees and legs facing roughly ninety degrees from each other. Plié. In one swift move, Ricky plunged his body downward while pulling the pot up towards his crotch. If felt great, for about one half of a second and then it began to burn. Burn badly. Ricky felt a seering pain eminating from his crotch. His chocolate nuts were on fire. He desperately starting pawing at his groin, hopelessly trying to scrape away the chocolate.

Refried beans. Toasted almonds. Grilled sausage.

In walked Ruby.

She found Ricky on the linoleum floor, half naked, clutching his blistered friends and grabbing his face in the horror of what he had done. He ran to the shower and poured cold, merciful rain onto what was, only moments ago, a dessert for the ages. Now, when he looked down he could only see a molting chocolate lobster. The agony of his miscalculation was multiplied by the additional knowledge that he'd better get to the hospital, and fast!

Ricky grabbed a dish towel, wrapped it around his waist and implored Ruby to get him some medical attention. Off they went, Ricky's apartment door swaying in the gusty evening breeze.

Ruby screeched to a halt in front of the emergency department. Ricky gingerly poured himself onto the pavement and with the grace of a saddle sore cowboy, hobbled through the sliding doors. In the breeze of the doorway his dish towel scattered to the four winds. The waiting room crowd shuddered in disbelief. Before them stood a man, half naked, soaked from his head to his white-socked toes, grabbing his mangled crotch and looking as though he had been brutally attacked by a jilted lover who just happened to have a cauldron of boiling tar at the ready. Ricky stumbled forward, said "help" to the nurse and passed out.

An orderly, burly and tattooed carried Ricky to a stretcher. Moments later Ricky awoke to find a doctor, a plastic surgeon, two tittering med students and Ruby hovering over him. He was shivering, white-faced and weak. The plastic surgeon was talking about skin grafts.

The doctor looked him sternly in the eye at first and then smiled. "We've given you some painkillers which will kick in very soon. You shouldn't be in too much more pain unless your friends find out about this. You'll stay here for the night as we've got some work to do." The doctor then looked toward the hulking orderly. "Clean him up if you can, be gentle, and no snacking."

Ricky thought about the pizza and how it was still in the oven. He urged Ruby to go back to his place before it burnt down. He then laid his sorry head back on the pillow, closed his eyes and went to sleep. Ruby left promptly. She found Ricky's apartment to be smoky but nothing was ablaze. The pizza was now a hissing disk of black carbon. Dessert, nowhere to be seen, was sedated in the hospital.

Ruby was starving. In the cupboard was an Oh Henry bar. She carefully unwrapped it, flopped down on the sofa, popped it into her mouth, savouring the rich nutty goodness of yet another truly memorable Valentine's Day with Ricky.