WWW. Back in the mid 90’s I had a blue raspberry imac. It was a piece of shit. Only reason I got it was to check out this new thing, the internet. In the olden days you paid for the internet by the minute. But online dating was free, which was cool, but you usually got what you paid for. I found this lady who was a bit older then I’d normally be into, but her picture look good enough. We were to meet at a restaurant. I got there first, got a table and waited. It wasn’t long before a really old woman helped herself to my table. I told her that I was waiting for someone else. She just laughed a nasty phlemmy laugh, showing brown stained teeth. I had always wondered if George Washington’s teeth were really made of wood, what might they look like. Now I know. She told me that she was my date. I told her that she doesn’t look like the picture she had online and that she claimed to be 40. She told me that what she meant was that she was 40 when the picture was taken. I hadn’t noticed, but the waiter had been standing at the table the whole time. I looked at him. He looked at me. The sympathy in his eyes didn’t help. She started eating the bread and butter that the waiter set before us and talked as she ate. Her lipstick looked as if it were applied with a melted red crayon. I fixated on a large crumb of buttered sourdough clinging to the corner of her mouth. I watched it bounce up and down as she chattered on. It was me. I was the crumb, stuck in an awkward and embarrassing situation. I told her that I didn’t think that this was going to work out. She told me to relax and to give the night a chance. And she kept pouring wine into my glass. She tried to spark up conversation. She asked me about myself. I told her that I was excited about the invention of the internet. She told me that she remembered when they invented the rubber band. I should have left her at the restaurant. I wanted to, but she kept pouring wine into me and talk me into following her home. I convinced myself that this was all part of the deal. Part of the story. What I started, I must finish if only to retell the tale. So, I followed the old bird home. As I walked up to her door I could smell cat shit in the yard. You can’t usually see cat shit, or ever see a cat taking a shit in the wild, but you can always recognize it when you smell it. Not like dog shit. A dog will shit in the middle of the sidewalk. Like someone would kick off their shoes and leave them in the middle of the living room floor. The dog, he don’t care. Once in her place, between the time she opened the door and when I heard it shut behind me, I spotted five or six cats darting about my peripheral. My ass never even hit the cushions of the over stuffed flowered sofa before she took me by the hand into her room. She sat me on the bed and told me that she wanted to slip into something more comfortable. How much wine did I drink? I lost track. She wriggled off her panties from under her dress while she watched me watch her. She kicked herself free of the panties. That’s when I saw her feet. The sight was enough that I accidentally bit the inside of my cheek. It took every part of strength within me not to just cut the fuck out of there. But I was afraid. I worried that I might knock her over in the hurried process and break her hip or something. Luckily, she went into the bathroom to change out of the rest of her clothes. While looking around the room I saw her underwear on the floor. They were old. Not old like they needed to be replaced. Old like she’d purchase them long ago. The tag said Montgomery Ward. I could take no more. I had to go. I tried to come up with an acceptable excuse. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but I just had to get out of there. I told her that I had the bends or something like that. I don’t even know what that means, but I’d heard old people say it and I hoped she’d identify with it. She looked sad at the door as I walked away from her. I thought to myself, nothing I could do about that. There’s just not enough wine in the whole damn world for us. Poor old thing. And I stepped up my pace. On my way to my car I spied, through the rose bushes, a cat with his back all hunched. He was taking a shit. Up till then I’d never seen that before and I knew I’d seen everything. And maybe too much. But I never saw her again, nor she me.

About magnumturtle

I write fiction.
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