Online Dating Tutorial: Part 3.7

 

There's a woman I met online a minute or two ago. Her hair intrigues me in a way that I find hard to explain. Whenever I find myself blindly wandering down blind alleys, just for the fun of it, I try to think about what I'd do if I found out that hair like that was just a 'trick of light', or even that I may have fallen for the oldest trick in the book. While hosing down to prepare for some quality time in the pen, out of nowhere something will rear its ugly head. For all I know someone's been playing me like a cheap camera. On the other hand, why is it so dark outside in the middle of an otherwise ordinary day? If I had to guess, I'd say that a collective mood disorder could have something to do with it. In my left hand I hold a cheap, and, if I'm being honest, a somewhat paltry diadem. It's engraved with a Gold's character reference which no one gets, or so I'm told. It could explain the hold she's had on me since we were kids back in the late 80s. If not, you'd have to check with my brother, Phil Lewis. He often has some very timely (and telling) answers. No one ever said it'd be easy to demand a fresh-soaked print from your typical handler's insolvency framework carousel.

The first time I crossed state lines to get directly up in her face, she'd made a firm decision to re-enact a scene from a movie which held a lot of memories not only for her, but for some others in her type of predicament, or even pickle. It wasn't of any use for me to try to guess her name from her maddeningly popular hair style alone. Alone among all the others, her strength made her hard to ignore when the chips were down. Otherwise, she seemed capable of conducting daily activities without so much as a chip on her stiff upper lip. When I told her on a break between scenes that I'd never gotten a vasectomy, she took it in stride and practically fell over herself trying to get a snapshot in case our first date turned out to also be our last. I was of a mind to politely ask her to please 'pipe down'. On a hillside, it was always apparent that even though we had nothing in common, our agreement on basic principles was strictly Grade A. When her Mother eventually approached my Pastor on the day after her body was found, it appeared that she was mistaken about my ongoing interest in underwater civilizations. In short, she thought it was all some kind of ruse to inspire sympathy from the cheap seats in the back. What she didn't know (and most likely never will), is that I just don't operate that way. Never have. Never will.

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