These things happen.

She slapped him hard across the face.

"That will teach you to mess with me, you jerk!"

He stared at her, mouth askew, his glasses dangling from his ears. Slowly his fingers opened and the multitude of roses he was carrying flopped onto the pavement. What the hell had just happened?

She glared at him, her face screwed up with the tension of fury. Her left hand, which had just imprinted itself upon the man's cheek, was now digging around in her purse, spilling ointments and candy wrappers around the roses. The twitch of her eyebrow showed that her hand had found what it was looking for.

I think I love her. Don't I think I love her?

Her hand left her purse clutching a six-inch switchblade. She snapped it open, and with a swift jabbing motion she plunged in into the man's chest, cleverly aiming it between the ribs. The blade felt cold against the muscle of his heart, and then a heat leapt out of his chest. So this is what it feels like to love?

The man had enough presence of mind to hold his hands out to cushion his fall. He rested his throbbing cheek against the pavement, and stared at one of the dropped roses. In the distance he noticed a pair of red high-heeled shoes, and saw their owner reach down and pick up three of the flowers, carefully avoiding the thorn in the stems. His mother was right: women were beyond comprehension.