The Editor

This entry is part 2 of 3 in the series Write of Passage

My client sits in front of the computer, tap tap tapping away hoping this time a different turn of the phrase will bring someone, ANYone into his life. He has no friends close enough to take a picture for him, yet realizes that professional photos will be overkill. The blue glare of the screen makes him look like something out of an alien movie in the webcam photo. He takes his phone into the bathroom and removes his shirt. He does not think to clean the spit-flecked mirror, nor to close the shower curtain (which reveals a bathtub DESPERATELY in need of a good scrubbing). The air is pungent with hope and lonliness…

He is well educated, highly paid, dresses impeccably (despite the profile pictures) and can afford a lifestyle several steps above the life he leads.

We meet because a mutual friend wants me to help him “fix” his profile so women will want to go out with him. Because I have absolutely no problem wielding a cluestick, I agree. I also point out to my friend the obvious: I can recommend changes that will make this man look better than George Clooney (on paper) but unless he does what I tell him to do our meeting is pointless.

Within five minutes, I can pinpoint problem number one: the man is ANGRY. He speaks of nothing but what a bitch his ex is and how she shafted him. “The only reason I don’t have to pay alimony is because I had pictures AND VIDEO of her cheating” he vehemently declares.

My inner pervert wonders if the judge at their divorce hearing watched the footage.

We get past his divorce and I bring the copy of his profile I’ve printed with the changes I recommend he makes. One by one he shoots down the suggestions. This makes him sound like a candyass, he doesn’t want to post this/that/the other, his profile is FINE isn’t it?

My inner bitch rolls her eyes and speaks. “Just exactly how many dates have you been on that are directly related to this ad you’ve written?”

He tells me how These Girls don’t know what a catch he is, how good he is in bed and how well he will spoil his woman. And he’s NOT creating another profile.

I point out that “spoil” means “ruined”. Again, The Bitch speaks. “They are not going to find out because they will not look past that profile.”

I tell him that perhaps he should get some divorce counseling, something to help with his anger. He tells me he’s not interested in laying “on some shrinkydink’s leather sofa”.

I’m done. There is nothing I CAN do. My papers go back in their folder, luck is wished (heaven knows he’s going to need it) and I see myself to the door. He sits back down in front of the computer and resumes the tap tap tapping away.

This work of fiction is my laaaate contribution to Write-of-Passage’s first Challenge. You can read the other participants :

So I guess I’m not interested after all…

This entry is part 1 of 7 in the series Man Shopping

I was in the dairy section when I looked up and there he was. A regular customer that I wanted to get to know better outside of work.

He mentioned a 20 yr old daughter and I asked “How do you make it past 16 without wanting to KILL THEM DEAD??!!??” He reiterated the mantra I’ve been citing the entire time: You laid the groundwork, it’s hard, but you have to let her make her own decisions and be responsible for the outcome.

I told him how my issues with anxiety make me tend to flip out on her hardcore when it’s not really warranted – that I overreact.

He segued from that into his ex-wife’s mental issues and how difficult they’d been. And how she’d snapped and that led to their divorce. That she was making friendly overtures and he’d talked to his mama about it and welp….

“I’m just gonna be her friend

You know what those italics mean, right? Yeah, you know what I mean. Of COURSE you know what it means.


I blinked, said “I hope that works out for you!” and took my leave, mind reeling and eyebrow twitching.

I did not fall, I jumped

This entry is part 1 of 10 in the series atypicalrelationship

He has three kids. Only they’re not “kids”, they’re teens/young adults.


When I gave the usual preparatory spiel (Kids, school, work, special needs kid, high intensity life), he didn’t blink. He asked me out twice before I realized it was an invitation. In my world, “what kind of movies do you like?” is conversation, not invitation.

He is sporadically employed, separated and living with his folks until the divorce is final. He wants to go back to school, to “study computers”. I tell him that the field is broad and currently full of people who JUST got laid off. That I think if he specializes in medical computing, he’ll pretty much be guaranteed a job as long as he’s willing to work.

We went out after work one night. Sat at a table across from each other and talked of our hopes and dreams. Spoke of our respective anxiety issues, of his various injuries and their resultant aches and pains and the medication they require.

(I did my best to quash the panicky unease his disclosures engendered.)

He likes that I’m an intellectual. Says I’m “purty”.

When it became obvious that I was out WAY past my bedtime, we agreed that the date was a good one, and I said I’d go out with him again. He caressed my cheek and leaned in for a kiss.

It was….WOW.

A twofer mutter

Week 277

  1. Concentration :: dilution
  2. Relocated :: after the divorce
  3. Clot :: scab
  4. Joints :: ache
  5. Satellite :: space
  6. Money back :: offer
  7. Kittens :: can haz cheezburgr too!
  8. Shady :: lady
  9. Drain :: clog
  10. Stroke :: me

Week 278

  1. Referral :: payment
  2. Indiana :: Youth Conference Nightmare
  3. Foil :: plot
  4. Horizon :: sun
  5. Event :: attendance
  6. Sailing :: away
  7. Footage :: shoot
  8. Sunday :: Morning
  9. Breathtaking :: kiss
  10. Dude! :: SUHWEET!