“Do I look like the kinda’ clown who could start a movement?”

“We drove for an hour and a half through 4 inches of snow and ice. Drinking our faces off!”

“Wow” the couple feigined uniformly.

“It was worth it. We strolled in the place drunk and ready for Genesis! I even forgot that I had two joints on either side of my ears. Security padded us down and didn’t say nuttin!”

“You must really like Phil Collins,” I muttered sarcastically.

Kelly giggled as her husband Henry shot me a dirty look. ‘Easy there sport,’ I thought, ‘Your wife isn’t my type.’ Actually she was.

Up until very recently I had no idea what my type was but we leaned against the island, drinking beers in Patricia’s kitchen, I said, “she has to have a sense of humor, no high maintenance bitches either, and I really like that blonde hair that’s almost light brown.”

“Sandy blonde,” Patricia chimed in as she stirred the chilli.

Jenny was sweet in that syrupy, fairy tale, romantic comedy kind of way. Since day one of our friendship she was constantly looking to set me up with someone. It was borderline obsession. But still, it was nice.

“People tell me all the time. He is really good looking,” Jenny relayed to me in her childishly high pitched tone. I laughed it off (and just to set the record straight I don’t think I’m all that. Just part of the story so why leave it out.)

“And don’t tell anyone this but last week’s get together was so I could introduce you to Brenda,” her secret was out, “so what do you think?”

“Uhh she’s okay. She seemed friendly enough but I’m not really looking for anyone at the moment.” That was only part true and I caught the excuse as it sputtered between my lips.

I stopped.

“She’s not really my type, I mean don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t kick her out of bed, she’s got that huge ass-“

“Uhh! That’s all you guys want is a fat ass!” Jenny’s whining cut me off.

“Awww buck up Buttercup. There are plenty of men out there who like flat ass girls.”


“What? Besides, I said a huge ass isn’t everything. Personality goes along way. The way I sees it, if I’m going to spend my time with someone she better be able to tell some jokes, build pallet fences or something!”

“Pallet fences?”


“So tell me about your type, J.”

I went on to describe Eve. We had met at a German restaurant, earlier that day, for a fellowship breakfast put together by the moderator of this recovery group that I go to sometimes.

“At first I thought she was in her 20’s because when she spoke at our meetings she often mentioned being in school.”

“Go on,” Jenny leaned in, grinning with little girl glee.

“We talked and got to know each other better. And I’ve been catching some extra long stares. I think she maybe into me but I don’t know…”

“What? What she doesn’t have a bubble butt???”

“No it’s not that. She’s working on her master’s degree and I’m…well I’m me.”

“You need to stop this,” Jenny’s voice screeched it’s way up to the ceiling.

“Just ask her for coffee,” she suggested.

“What you’re saying is making alot of sense. But I just don’t wanna hurt someone unintentionally because I can’t work through the garbage some other woman put me through.”

“Oh my God do you need to change your tampon?”

The weather was perfectly chilled, we had beer and Patricia had this strain of bud called pineapple something or other from Seattle.

Eve’s blue-gray eyes were working their witchy ways on me as mini bonfire flames bribed my attention.

One comment on ““Do I look like the kinda’ clown who could start a movement?”

  1. dddddddeeeee says:

    Everybody is awful these days. It’s enough to make anyone crazy.
    I’ll tell you what you get! You get what you f**king deserve


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