The Escape Artist Hamster and the First Date

Sarah was finally having a successful second date with David. They were back at her apartment, sharing a pleasant bottle of Pinot Noir, and the atmosphere was genuinely relaxed and promising.

In the corner of the room, however, was "Sir Reginald," Sarah's pet Syrian Hamster. Sir Reginald was an escape artist of the highest order, having broken out of four different cages in three months. Sarah thought she had finally secured him in a fortress-like habitat before the date.

She hadn't.

Mid-conversation, as David was complimenting her taste in music, Sarah saw a tiny flash of brown fur scurry across the baseboard.

"Did you see that?" Sarah whispered, her heart sinking.

"See what?" David replied.

"Sir Reginald," she hissed. "My hamster. He's loose."

David frowned. "A hamster? How big can it be?"

The answer arrived immediately. Sir Reginald, emboldened by his freedom, decided to explore. He climbed the leg of the coffee table, traversed the magazines, and then, with the speed of a tiny, desperate criminal, launched himself directly onto the back of David's neck.

David shrieked—a high, startled sound that was decidedly unmanly. He frantically slapped the back of his neck, thinking he was under attack by a giant spider.

Sir Reginald, terrified, didn't fall off. He panicked and scrambled inside the collar of David's shirt, disappearing down his back.

David jumped up, doing a frantic, twitching jig. "It's inside! It's crawling! Get it out!"

Sarah scrambled off the couch, trying to catch the tiny beast that was now exploring the terrain of David's spine.

"Stand still, David! I need to lure him out!" Sarah shouted, grabbing the nearest thing that smelled like food: a small bowl of stale popcorn kernels.

David, meanwhile, was ripping off his expensive cashmere sweater, but the hamster was too fast.

Sir Reginald suddenly reappeared at David's chest, peeking out from under his t-shirt like a tiny, furry, and very startled brooch.

"He's out! Grab him!" Sarah yelled.

David instinctively grabbed the hamster. He didn't grab him gently; he grabbed him with the desperate, vice-like grip of a man facing a primal threat.

Sir Reginald, in a final act of biological defiance, left a small, warm deposit of hamster shame directly in David's palm.

David looked at the hamster, then at the deposit, then at Sarah, who was holding the bowl of stale popcorn.

"I think," David said, his voice flat, dropping Sir Reginald (who immediately ran under the fridge), "I need to go wash my hand. And possibly my shirt. And I may need a tetanus shot."

The date ended with David fleeing Sarah’s apartment, leaving his cashmere sweater behind as a casualty of war. Sarah just stood there, holding a bowl of stale popcorn, realizing that Sir Reginald had once again successfully sabotaged her dating life.