Wednesday, April 10, 2024


A number of years ago, after my break-up with Savage Kitten, I stated that the ideal woman would be like a sleek and wriggly hunting animal with a nice personality who was curious and intelligent, and read at a post-college level, short enough that one could kiss her forehead. It was a follow-up to an essay in which I had slagged nearly all women. In consequence of which I was not dating and had no plans to date. Sour grapish, sure, but accurate.

What I'll observe is that many of the nicest women I know are friends married to friends
And, of course, there are just some things a gentleman does not do.
Because he is a gentleman, and it would be messy.
Faugh and forsooth.

If I were a woman, that slag-rant would have gone the other way.

Neither the perfect man or woman is a sports fiend.

So obviously humanity is flawed.

We also established at that time that I like dachshunds.
What I really should have mentioned, because it would've thrown everything into sharpest perspective and probably clarified matters, is that as a middle aged Dutchman who smokes a pipe and has particular tastes, I smell nasty and am completely unlikeable. There is always a hint of fire, brimstone, and the devil's cabbage about me (aged Virginia tobacco augmented with a touch of condimental leaf), and because of my deep-set eyes I look quite daemonic at times. Especially notice my eyes. They follow you around the room. Glowering, glowering.
An exile from the realm of Orcs, sneering at the puny world of men. Quite baleful.

I suspect that my apartment mate may be hard of seeing, and is not aware of the evilness of my eyes, OR the personal reek. She expressed concern. Am I eating enough? And do I need another blanket? Clearly she hasn't noticed the minor pudge either, as she says I'm scrawny. I believe that this is quite instinctive. Possibly she thinks I'm a feral cat, and in need of careful care, infinite patience, shots at the vet, and a tempting bowl of juicy dead animal feast.

Either that or I look like a helpless goober, but I rather think not.
I am fierce, and have claws.

Mmm, dead animal feast!
So juicy and tempting.

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