what are you doing,
i'm not that kind
of girl
when i accidentally bump
my knee into hers
beneath her doily covered
coffee table.
i tell her
whoa, i'm not that kind of guy
either, you have me
all wrong. i was just stretching
my leg.
these new jeans
are chaffing me.
are you sure?
of course i'm sure.
i hardly know you.
we've only had nineteen dates.
i don't even care
about sex.
or romance, or anything like
that.
a light kiss on the cheek
like grandma
used to give is fine with me.
send me home with a baggie of
oatmeal cookies
with raisins in them and i'm
a happy camper. in fact,
i'm practically a virgin.
me too,
she says. me too.
i'm glad you're not like all the other
guys.
all they think about is sex sex sex.
i shake my head.
yup. i'm ashamed to call myself
a man sometimes.
men are just wild animals.
i blame it on the internet, or
global warming.
sunspots.
really, she says. hmmm. could be.
i just like to cuddle on the couch,
or rock
on the porch
with my cat fluffy in my lap,
maybe knit a new afghan,
and watch the sun go down.
or maybe play a
board game or look through my
photo albums again.
wow, board games,
i say out loud, exactly.
i can't get enough of board
games on a saturday night.
candy land,
or checkers,
or hang man. maybe we can
do a crossword puzzle too.
we're so alike, she says.
it's uncanny.
yes. we are i tell her.
staring out
the window
wondering when this
rain will
ever stop so that i can
go home
and kill myself.
(kidding)
No comments:
Post a Comment