COMMITTED BACHELORETTE

Sometimes you do not really want to know what the other person looks like. The voice, in of of itself, is the best mark of her character. Consequently I may have an entirely wrong impression of the lady in question, not having actually seen or spoken to her.

Well, she was busy at the time, so it would have been an imposition for me to get up and slowly drift past her, then lazily swan back again whence I came, just to get a good gander.
Somewhat transparent, too.

I'm just not very good at subterfuge.


It was late afternoon and I was having a quite smoke near the financial district. A goodly bowl of 'Old Joe Krantz' in my pipe, and an open book on my lap. The book was there because I thought it would make me look intellectual, rather than shiftless. I had even chosen the right volume to scare away casual questions about my reading material from passers-by.

"What are you reading?"

"Headhunting in the Solomon Islands."

"Oh."

"It's instructional."

Actually, it's fairly fascinating. I have two copies of it.
I bought the second one when I misplaced the first.

I figured that it would take a truly remarkable person to want to continue the conversation after this exchange. I would love to be involved in discussion with an individual like that. Especially if she were a youngish brainiac.
One of my fondest dreams is to encounter such a woman.
I am more social than I seem.


The other person sat down nearby, somewhere behind or to the left. Not quite sure where, as I was deep in the pretense of reading. After a few minutes she happily started chirping. At first I thought she had a companion, but it became apparent that it was a cell-phone conversation. No audible responses, you see. She could've been just nuts, but the cell-phone is more likely. She sounded far too sane to be a San Francisco loonie.
A remarkably mellifluous voice, coupled with precise diction.
As well as an educated set of ideas.
About food.

Exactly the kind of person that sour old codgers like myself dream of.

If I weren't so shy, I would have gone over to introduce myself.

Except that I would stutter, stumble, and look stupid.

I have little choice but to blame her. If she did not sound so delightful, there might be nothing to regret. And if she had just the right amount of self-confident adventurousness, she could come over and speak to me. Break the ice, and take a plunge. After my initial fit of panic, we might have had a splendid conversation. I also like to talk about food.

Why, maybe we would have found that we had so much in common!

Women need to be gutsier. There is just so much to gain.


Old Joe Krantz, made by Cornell & Diehl, is a remarkable blend, by the way. Mostly Burley tobacco, with red Virginia ribbon and Perique. This could be an addictive all-day smoke, especially for contemplative people. The tin I opened recently dated from 2007, and was nearly bulbous with fermentation after five-and-a-half years.

Headhunting in the Solomon Islands details the experiences of the author, Carole Mytinger, and her friend Margaret Warner, three quarters of a century ago, when they set off to explore the South Pacific and paint the people there before too much civilization spoiled everything. An account of a bold expedition in the tropics, well-told, and filled with evocative details keenly observed.
It's a jolly good read; I highly recommend it.
Admirable women, both.


The unseen female person finally finished her cellular exchange, then there was silence. When I looked around no one was there; she was gone.
I finished my pipe, and got up from the bench. Then left, wondering what might have been.
The first twinge of twilight lent a note of despondency.



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