Kevin and the Urban Cupid

Apart from walking around with an arrow in his back, no one would be likely to suggest that there was anything out of the ordinary about Kevin. The arrow was golden; yellow metal was how the police chose to describe it - nothing like the type favoured by Cheyenne braves riding in pursuit of antelope across the plains of Wyoming. Kevin's arrow was short with feathers fashioned from extruded plastic. A nice golden sheen reflected off them, adding a touch more bling. The tip took the form of a pair of exaggerated apostrophies, in themselves a weird and mysterious symbol to most of his friends. The point had penetrated a vertebra approximately level with the mid-point of Kevin's shoulder blades. From the angle of entry it had been assumed that it had been fired from the level of someone's bedroom window. This, at least, was the theory extended by the local constabulary. The culprit was never apprehended.
Specialists at Kevin's medical centre strove to suggest a suitable procedure by which it could be safely removed. But, in any event, there was nothing to be done in the short term as there was a waiting list for arrow removal. Oddly enough, however, after the wound had healed, the problem did not seem to be causing their patient too much discomfort; on the contrary, the slight torsion on his spine helped to improve his posture. Kevin had been inclined to stoop. His mother, a dab hand with needle and thread, made modifications to his attire so that he could get dressed more easily. She even knitted a sheath so that the feathers didn't scratch the furniture or get damaged while he slept. Kevin experienced very little inconvenience and soon the life-changing effects, indeed the benefits of having an arrow stuck in one's back, became apparent.
In the haberdashery department of Wainwright's where he worked, Kevin's figures showed a definite upturn. Customers who came to gawp felt guilty about leaving without making a purchase and the haberdashery till kept ringing. Buoyed by his unexpected celebrity, Kevin made more frequent forays into the clubs and bars. Everyone made plenty of space for him, especially on the dance floor, and, at the bar, it was less difficult than it had been to attract the barman's attention. Girls who had never given Kevin much thought found themselves intrigued by Kevin's unusual accessory. It even generated a spate of pale imitations. Followers of fashion never quite managed the proper arrow look, but joke Bowie knives appeared as an alternative. Kevin's mate Gareth made a bit of an impact with a meat cleaver embedded between his shoulders. But the effect never quite hit the button, especially when the girls spotted the gaffer tape holding the thing in place.
One night, while he was enjoying being the centre of attention at the Orinoco nightspot, Valerie appeared on the scene. Unlike the other acolytes, Valerie was more intent on exploring the inner Kevin. It soon became apparent that they shared a joint interest in retailing. Valerie was working at the Whistlestop petrol station and mini-market. This being a temporary position, she explained, before she went off to study marketing and sales management at university. Kevin had rarely encounted such sophistication.
Romance blossomed, but Valerie took the view that their love making was not being enhanced by the violent oscillations of an arrow tipped with golden feathers flashing in front of her face. Valerie's parents expressed how, in their own way, they were equally unimpressed and drew the line at getting Kevin's mum to modify the expensive wedding outfit they were insisting upon. Sadly, as part of the wedding preparations, Kevin finally had to have the operation. On the big day with the sun shining on a radiant bride and an arrowless groom, Kevin and Valerie stood for photographs outside the church gates with confetti raining down. They held hands and he took a quick glance at his golden wedding ring glinting in the sunlight.
Ah well, thought Kevin, all good things must come to an end.