I was talking with Liz last night. We met at
freshman orientation back in the fall 1975 when
Gerald Ford was
President. Liz was hot. She was smart, very smart, in fact her Dad taught at another university. She had doe eyes, long blonde hair and
curves to burn. I was definitely into Liz. But a 'fast mover' I have never been. I have almost always assumed the worst. By the time I worked up the nerve, she had a major boyfriend.
Half a century later Liz has a couple of kids and a divorce on her record. She's retired from teaching career. Me, I never married. Came close, once or twice, I'm a S.I.N.K. And it's really my fault. I had opportunities. And let's face it, I am the only common factor in every relationship I've ever had. After Diane and I split up back in 2017 I decided i was through. I would spend the rest of my life alone. A kitten came to my door and meowed until I opened it, so mine became a shared household. Professor Fate never complains about my musical choices, though he's not of huge fan of my writing. He thinks my fingers should be petting him, not pushing buttons on a damned keyboard.
So, we're both alone. She loves books, after all she was a school librarian and collects them. She's into museums. She loves history. She loves that I write. And she's still cute fifty years later, at least cuter than I am. We like a lot of the same things. Moreover, she straight out asked my why I never asked her out. At the time I thought i was in the friend zone, and that sort of hook up was out of the question, outside of some very private, personal fantasies. But the real reason I was stupid. I liked her. She liked me. We enjoyed each others company. Which is a pretty good basis on which to have a relationship.
Well, it's clear she's interested in me. So now, I have a choice. Shit, or get off the pot.