Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Portrait of the Artist as a Manny


I took a casual look around the room, as cool as could be, but didn’t see Josalyn.  What the fuck?
“Where is she?”  I asked Chuck.
As if he fucking knew.  It’s hard to spin your head around the room looking for someone and still look cool, but I was pretty sure I pulled it off as I looked for Josalyn.
Great.  The one time I decided to throw down the gauntlet and actually try to (well, sort of) ask a woman out on a date, she didn’t show up.  Of course.
I don’t have ESP.  But I do assume that every woman in the world has ESP, at least when it comes to dealing with me.  How many times had I seen a girl’s guts clench up like she was about to be hit with atomic diarrhea when she saw me walking up to her, praying she’d suddenly blend into the woodwork so I wouldn’t see her and would walk right on by without asking her out?  Every single time I’d approached a woman, of course.  But a woman who barely even knew me somehow sensing that I was interested in asking her out before she’d even entered the building, therein knowing to stay the fuck away?  That was a truly impressive woman.  I quietly doffed the proverbial cap to Josalyn for this, it was as if she…oh, shit, there she was.  Fuck.

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