Issue
number 54 March
7, 2004
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Quorum of One is intended for adult readers
This
issue:
Linda's side of the
story
Well, by now I guess just about
everybody knows the whole story about how we met, and of course Roy made it
sound so goshawful ro-man-tic and all in that song -- you know the one -- that everybody
thought it was like some kind of earthshaking tragedy when we broke up. Also of
course everybody thinks it just must have been my fault, because how could anybody who
sings like that, you know, with that high, pure voice and all, ever be the one
to blame? Well let me tell you how it really happened.
For starters, I was not -- I repeat not -- "walking back to him"
that night. I was "walking back to my car" because I had just
remembered I left my lipstick in the glove compartment. Put yourself in my
place for a moment. You're just trying to have a little fun on your own one
night 'cause you finally broke up with an emotionally retarded porn addict who
you thought you'd never get rid of, and you're "walking down the
street" (Roy got that part right, at least), and here's this guy, you've
never seen him before in your life, and he's all like, "I don't believe it!"
and "You're so beautiful it can't be true!" Or something like that --
I can't remember his exact words. But what are you gonna think? A creep, right?
A dandruff picker.
And then he starts this routine, this bit, like "Excuse me, miss?" You don't give him the time of day, but he keeps it up, he says, "I was more or less obliged to notice..." (or words to that effect), "you're like looking real good, and I was just wondering..." Guy with lines like that couldn't pick up a woman with a forklift.
So what do you do? You do exactly what I did that night: you just walk on by. What do you care if you make him cry, somebody like that? You just walk away. Hey -- that's just the way it is, OK?
Well, that's when I remember my
lipstick in the car. Jesus. So I have no choice but to go back, right back in front of old Don Juanson
there to get to the parking lot, and he's like in the smack middle of the
sidewalk all jumping up and down like a four-year-old on Christmas 'cause he
thinks I'm coming back to him, for Pete's sake. If you can believe that. I'm about to knee him a
good one right in the wilburys to get him off my back, but then I get a good
look at him for the first time, and turns out he's this kind of sweet-looking
guy. Not exactly handsome, no taste in clothes, those nerdorama glasses, but
sweet-looking, you know? He had this honest, innocent-like expression on his
face and, I don't why, I can't explain it, I just decided on the spur of the
moment to go for it. Like I said to myself, "Hey, you don't have anything
better going on tonight. Stop a while. Talk to him -- see if he's got a sense
of humor."
So one thing leads to another and we
head off to the Caribou Club, where I would normally never go because it's so
expensive, but he just said that he was really "loaded", and thinks I
probably am too, so just to show some class I figured on the Caribou. Where I
drink Pisco sours all night and he downs his own weight in Molson's, which is
the cheapest thing they got, and then when it comes time to pay the tab it turns
out I misunderstood him, he actually said "lonely"! Like I couldn't have guessed. So it's
me who pays for our first date, and it costs me about a whole week's worth of
tips, but you know what? I really liked the guy. He was certainly sincere,
which was a whole lot more than I could say for the other pusbags I'd dated
over the years.
So I'll spare you the details, but
pretty soon we're going out together all the time and then pretty soon after
that we move in together. And that's when things started to go downhill. For
one thing, it was the sex. Actually, it wasn't the sex per se, which was
actually pretty good, it was that "cat growl" sound he used to make.
Every time. Really. The
night we met I thought it was some kind of ironic joke, it was so corny. I was
thinking, "What next? A wolf whistle? How many times in the history of
mankind has this pickup technique ever worked?" Well, turns out he does that
"Mrrroowww" thing any and every time he gets excited.
Oh, and also the "Mercy!"
routine. And that's not a joke either -- he thinks it's some kind of refined,
sophisticated way to say "thank you," like he's so freakin' continental he speaks French or something. Only
instead of saying "mare-SEE" like you're supposed to, I think, he
pronounces it like this coked-up gospel preacher: "MERRR-ceeeee..."
Just 'cause I handed him the Wheat Chex at the breakfast table. Gets kind of
old kind of fast, you know?
But what finally put an end to it for
me was, well, Roy did basically treat me right, like he said he would, but he just
never wanted to talk about important things. You know? Like remember that first
night when he says, "Pretty woman yay yay yay, pretty woman look my
way"? I was thinking it was kind of cute, like he's so nervous and
overwhelmed by my supposed loveliness he's got himself all tongue-tied. Turns
out the dude just has this serious communication problem -- he does that crap
all the time! Like the first time I walked out, after we'd had this awful fight
about whether to spend Christmas in Vegas again, and finally I just couldn't
take any more so I packed up some stuff and headed for the door, and Roy says,
"Lovely lady, please don't go!". And I say, "Give me one good
reason!" And he looks at me and says, "Lovely lady, wo wo wo!" I
was outa there, Claire. Believe that. Gone for a month that time. Then when I come back
he says, "Foxy female, say you'll stay!" I say, "Well it
depends, Roy. What are you going to do different to keep me around?" He
says, "Foxy female, hey hey hey!" You see what I mean?
So we'd have these pretty awful fights like every few weeks, and in the next year or so I'd spent as many nights on my sister's couch as in our bed at home. Finally, Roy gets it in his head that if we get married this will like solve all our problems. So he says, "Gorgeous girl, let's say 'I do!'" And I say, "I don't know, Roy. Have you really thought about this? Do you think we're ready to get married?" And he says, "Gorgeous girl, let's woo-hoo-hoo!" That did it. I thought to myself, "What am I doing with a guy who can't even rhyme a one-syllable word?" I was outa there again, Glen, and that time for good.
But we did have a couple nice years
together.
©2004
by David Jaggard
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