THE IDEAL WOMAN, RE-ENVISIONED
And oh heck, me giving anybody advice is just wrong. I'm the man who wants to provide grammar school kids with lessons in rhetoric. Manifestly a BAD idea, because they'll just out-argue us grown-ups, among whose ranks I nominally count myself. That speaks volumes about a lack of judgment.
So I'd like to offer that the ideal woman likes meat, has no tattoos, and doesn't chew with her mouth open.
That last item is very important. I now know in overmuch detail what the fresh-faced young lady at the other table was eating last night, and let me tell you the sight of a quesadilla being slowly masticated detracted enormously from her pinkness.
I don't know nearly so much about the food choices of her friends, as not a single other orifice at the table was in my direct line of sight.
It is possible that she may have been the fifth wheel.
Possibly her date had already been exposed.
And had inexplicably chickened.
"She likes meat, lacks tattoos, closes her mouth."
And dresses properly. During lunch yesterday I got far too good a view of a middle-aged dame's flamboyant tramp stamp. Why on earth would anybody have a smiling fat Buddha inked right above their bum?
Admittedly my meal was in Marin County (at work), so I should have been used to flashes of dubious judgment and weird self-indulgence, they're all creative free spirits there with meaningfulness in their lives, but it was never the less a bit much at that moment.
The ideal woman is nice to be with.
And is not run of the mill.
She is hard to find.
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