What were we talking about?

It has occurred to me more than once -- as I'm sure it has to you -- that I'm simply one handsome guy, a prince among men. I think we're all agreed on this. Yes, we are. Don't make me come over there, bucko. You wouldn't like it.

So I'm a prince, and my question is -- one that surely ranks up among the great questions in the universe like The Ultimate Theory of Physics and The Mystery of Ear Wax -- why isn't there some princess for me? Or truly the question is why aren't there many, many princesses for me, but we'll focus on one.

Although I can't focus on one anymore because of what that silly judge did with his protective order. Or at least I can't focus on my attractive neighbor up the street who has taken to wearing a black sack that completely covers her from head to toe, only comes out at night, and carries mace (an actual spiked club, not the pepper spray) for some reason that eludes me. Or really she's eluding me. She must have been a long distance runner in high school. Sigh. Nice legs, though.

But that's beside the point or really to the left of the point or maybe to the north of it, but I'm not sure because I was never clear on that whole north-south-east-down thing. I hate it when people give directions like: "Go south for 1.7 miles then turn to a bearing of south-east by 40 degrees and use the star Polaris to triangulate your position." I'm much better with: "Go past the Dairy Queen and turn right at the gas station with the four pumps out front and go until you see the house with the green statue of George Washington." Those are directions I can follow.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, about that green statue of George Washington. It isn't moss that covers that concrete tribute to the Father of Our Country. (Which is an odd nickname because he didn’t have any children, and did anyone ever think that just maybe he resented that nickname and wanted to be called Bubba or Red?) Anyway, the statue's owner got tired of people writing graffiti on Bubba Washington so he painted it bright lime green, going on the theory that anything that was painted on it could only improve it from that point on. Perversely, it hasn't been defaced since.

But I keep thinking that wasn't what I was talking about earlier, but to find out, I'd have to stop and go back and re-read what I wrote, and frankly I think you should do it and tell me so that I wouldn't have to. I'm tired.

Fine. Give me a moment. I have to do everything around here. Oh yeah, why isn't there a woman for me? It's an unanswerable question, although a girl once told me that it was because I couldn’t focus on anything for very long, but that doesn't sound right. Just ask my neighbor up the street.

Copyright 2009 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.

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