The Love Bird

I was four months shy of my sixtieth year when I thought I met the girl of my dreams at the local tavern. When she first fixed her mushy eyes on me I knew one day we’d spend a life of wedded-bliss in a cradle of never ending baby-talk. 

My future angel-of-love tapped me on the shoulder, sending shivers down my spine. When I spun around to face the adorable creature she seductively suggested I get out of her seat. ‘Scram,’ she said. ‘And I better not find you’ve been sucking away at my gin fizz with those quivering liver-lips of yours. You’re disgusting!’

I gushed at her delightful colloquial gymnastics. No doubt she was doing nothing more than sharing her infatuation with me by playfully pulling my leg. It’s what sweethearts do I’m told. Oh! The joys of finally realizing my days at the ‘Y’ would soon come to an end! 

‘Did ya hear what I said, leisure suit?’ she continued. ‘Out of my damn seat!’

My heart doesn’t skip a beat often. But when it does? Yowser!

‘Hey, buddy!’ said the bartender. ‘Unless you wanna see a grown man cry from the force of many knuckles getting familiar with a certain nose, I suggest you remove your fat rump from the ladies seat! Comprende, amigo?’

What splendor to realize I had been mistaken for one who shares the blood of the noble Spaniard! How far we’ve come in our multi-cultural society! ‘Viva la diferencia!’ I shouted.

‘We speak American here, buddy!’ said the bartender. ‘Now, vamoose!’

Out on the street I waited for snookums to realize we were no longer within kissing distance of each other. It was to be a long wait.

After several hours I abandoned any hope that cupcake would come to her senses. Hunger then reared its ugly head and I dutifully obeyed its wishes

At the local diner I sat alongside the other possessors of a hungry heart. A single row of coffee slurping soloists. Truck driver. Night watchman. The lady who cleans offices after hours. 

“No luck, huh?” she said to me.

“Excuse me?”

“Tonight,” she said. “I see you didn’t get lucky. Again.”

“Well. . .”

“You’re sure dolled up pretty nice, though,” she said. “I’ve noticed you.”

“You have?”

“You smell nice, too.”

“Hai Karate,” I said. “I seem to have acquired an abundance of the intoxicant after Dad died.”

“Did it come with that suit? You don’t see many like it nowadays. Polyester, right?”

“Correct,” I said. “I had to have it taken out. I’m not as fit as I was in yonder days of youth and vigor. But it holds up pretty nice. Don’t you think?”

“I wouldn't mind being seen along side it. I’m a big fan of brown.”

“You are?”

“I are. For sure.”

What rapture it was to then go on to share my toasted bran muffin with such an exquisite lady! We even went so far as to make arrangements for an evening of classic cinema at the local theater. ‘Real butter on the popcorn,’ she told me.

I can’t wait. I may even wear a tie.

Here’s looking at you, kid.