Story Sent in by Mary:
Will and I had been out on two dates already. During the first one, he was pretty introverted and didn't say much. I guessed that he was nervous and I decided to give him a second chance. Same thing the second date. I agreed to a third one just to make absolutely sure that that was his personality, rather than nerves. He invited me to his house for dinner and a movie.
I arrived and he ushered me into his living room, where I found about a half dozen books on his coffee table, all about martial arts and ninjas.
"Into ninjas?" I asked him.
He led me into his den, where swords, throwing stars, and knives of all sorts were mounted on the walls in various display cases, although some were out and leaning against the walls.
I said, "I had no idea that you were that into all of this."
He said, "I'm a self-trained master. Want to see?"
Without waiting for a response, he went for a closet, pulled out a scuffed, beaten-up wooden target, and carried it out of the house to his back yard. I followed him there. He went back inside, then returned with a handful of throwing stars. He set up the target against a tree, then picked up the pile of throwing stars next to his house, and then threw them, one right after the other, at the target.
Not one of them hit. Most fell short, into the grass, or else overshot it and hit the wooden fence that surrounded the yard.
Once he had exhausted his supply (he had about a dozen of them), he recovered them, or at least as many as he could find in the growing darkness. He then returned to me, turned back to the target, and threw them at it once more. One of them hit but bounced off.
"That counts," he said, and continued to pitch them like playing cards. Once he was done with this second round, he went to gather them up again.
"Help me find them," he said, "I don't want them lying out here. They were expensive."
Hoping that I didn't accidentally step on any of them (I was wearing shoes, but they were definitely sharp), I did my best to help him recover them. I found two. He found seven.
"We have to keep looking," he said, "I don't want, like, a neighborhood dog to come in here tonight and think it's a chew toy and run away with it."
"That's what you're concerned about?" I asked.
He said, "Yeah. They were around $100 each. They're real."
I helped him for another 10 minutes before I said, "I think these are all I'm going to find."
He handed me the stars he had found and said, "Bring those inside on your way out, would you? I'm sorry, but I have to find these."
I went back inside with the nine or so that we had both found, left them on a mantle in the den, and left.
Not five minutes after I had gone, he called me in a panic. He asked, "Where did you put the stars I so specifically asked you to bring inside? Where are they?"
"On a mantle in the den," I said.
He sighed. "Okay. Good. I hope you didn't scratch them. Have a good night." He hung up.
In the ensuing days, he wrote me a message about something or other, but I didn't really take him seriously anymore after that whole incident, so, likely having skimmed it, I don't remember what it said.
Story Sent in by Mary: