Leaving Treadmarks On My Ass

January 28, 2008

53_kartini.jpg I have these conversations with Karen all the time, in my head. Much of what I’d like to say to her or tell her about is off-limits, off-limits-sign.jpg so I do it anyway, with the image of Karen that camps out in my brain. I used to have a lot of these conversations, but the real Karen manages to make all of those conversations seem pretty unreal, which they are, but, hey, works for me. I’ve been having a hard time coming up with new conversations that can overcome: “That would be like a date,” and “I would never date a man old enough to be my father.” 56_kartini.jpg Tonight I came up with this:

Karen – “I’m a little freaked out. I read your blog.”

Me – “Sorry. Do you want me to delete it?”

Karen – “No, it’s OK. It just makes me feel uncomfortable around you.”

Me – “I can delete the whole thing.”

Karen- “No, really, don’t do that. I just don’t know what to think any more.”

Me – “What if we just start all over?”

Karen – “Yeah; I’d like that.”

Me- “OK. Hi. My name is Doofus. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Will you marry me?”

persistence.jpg Those conversations have a tendency to go that way: touch, kiss, disrobe, enter, shoot, kind of like being 18 – total impatience. One of my problems is that I’m honest (and sometimes impatient). It’s possible that I’m not all that honest with myself, but I do like to say what’s on my mind, especially if it’s been rattling around in there for awhile. I don’t know how I could have a real conversation with Karen without blurting out that I’m in love with her and I want to spend the rest of my life with her. Scary stuff. I can see her running so fast her shoes smoke, leaving treadmarks on my ass. <— (I don’t know how to top that last sentence.)


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