Is that a pink bow? Didn’t think women wore bows anymore. I mean it looks cute, but I guess her cuteness isn’t some aesthetic expression for me; it’s for her own self-expression. Wait, what’s that on her bow? Squinting sucks, I should buy new glasses at some point. Too poor to deal with that now, though. It says, “It was the best of times.” Dickens? Has to be Dickens. She seems like the literary type, by which I mean she looks like she prefers imaginary people over “real” people. I get that. I’m the same way.
Maybe I should open with something witty. I could shout “What the Dickens” loudly and see if she responds. Would she like literary references within Family Guy references? Who’s to say? I wonder why her bow left out “it was the worst of time?” Maybe it’s the age of wisdom and I’m supposed to figure the rest out. That seems silly. Maybe not though, I can’t be the arbiter of how to best use quotes from literature on clothing. I wonder if there’s an expert somewhere who could teach me how to use references to make friends,, or even find a date, maybe a “How to Quote Things That People Like To Get Them To Be Friends With You (or Go On a Date With You) For Dummies”. I’ll have to Google that later.
I could tell her that I could give her the worst of times. Being both suggestive and true. True because my conversation skills leave people laughing in front of me instead of with me. Besides what’s the point of being so sexual to a woman, or anyone for that matter? It feels grimy, gross, ignoble. And it’s directly offensive to just about anyone who becomes the unfortunate recipient of those words. Of course, the best advice is to be myself and express my genuine interest in this bow-wearing, Dickens-appreciating woman.
To be myself is a bet at having the quietest conversation of your life. I’m soft spoken despite my deep voice, and small talk makes me want to take the nearest implement and turn my innards outward. Maybe she’d like talking about the how-to of harakiri as I try to save my organs from myself? Less extreme, maybe she’d just want to talk about the book of dying, the “Hagakure”.
She’s just waiting for the bus. The wind is blowing nicely and her brown hair just gently flowing. Is it any of my business to try making a friend or potential love interest out of her? She’s just trying to get home, or go to work, or whatever else it is she does. She is certainly not asking for a conversation. What she wanted me to do was make it until the fourth line of the Dickens line, passed the age of wisdom, because I’m a fool for believing she should be receptive of a charm that doesn’t exist and is otherwise unwarranted. Nor would she be receptive of an interest starting purely off a pink-bow-aesthetic. And, the truth is, I haven’t even read “A Tale of Two Cities.” I just know enough about the first couple of lines to get my more literary friends off my back.
She’s getting on her bus now. Heading into downtown, the bus says. Thank God, or whatever, for that. I wonder what she’s doing downtown? That’s none of my business either, but I can’t help picturing her curled up with a book at her downtown flat. She’d be curled up with a book and a black cat at her side, and she’d be giggling softly about boys disguised as men who tried wooing her with an empty understanding of Dickens, women, and the world at large. I can’t help but laugh too. I’ve found a common lot with those I’ve sworn against: the city cat-callers, over-confident and over-testosteroned frat boys, and a myriad political leaders. People of even moderate intelligence leave ourselves out of this group of women-defilers but we are just as capable and if not more dangerous because of our delusions of incapability.
Photo credit: https://www.pexels.com/@skitterphoto