6/21/2005

does this sound like you?

(probably not)

She was tall and thin, a licorice stick, a twirled urban whim, a toothpick. He was round and rough, a squat peg, stocky and sturdy, like a wooden leg.

They met at bars, in caf├ęs, they talked hair removal, wax, Ben-gay. She told him all about her vases; he was a tax lawyer, preoccupied with the most obscure clauses. They talked a little about yesterday, not much about today; they made plans for Friday. They called each other every other day.

Evenings they met, puffed on separate cigarettes. The bill would come, they'd go Dutch; neither of them liked it all that much.

There was tension, it was raw, their gazes cut like a band saw.

She had tattoos, and he was neat. He wore lots of sweaters, and she had sparkles on her feet.

She danced a lot - the meringue - he would trip on sidewalks. They spent a disproportionate amount of time sighing, on their walks around the block.

He looked about at waitresses, she often rolled her eyes. He complained about his dull winter shoes; she suggested a larger size? He looked at her and sighed.

She had a thing for diamonds, he was turned on by her anklet. She loved pressed flowers and any recipe with walnuts; meanwhile he knew nothing about colour co-ordination.

He had an aversion to politics, the Romantics and obstetrics – the mere mention of fallopian tubes could make him sick. But she wanted to have his baby. And she kept a test tube in her purse.

(run run run!)

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