A Love Story

Hello faithful followers of the life and antics of our good friend WordWhiz. This is Lejnd here, writing to you from the bowels of the fifteenth state in our fair union. WW, for some reason known only to her, has asked me to guest post for her. I warned her that it would bring down the property value of this blog, but she insisted, and who am I to argue? Trying to delve into the who’s, why’s, and wherefores of a woman’s mind is dangerous stuff, so I did as I always do when asked to do something by a beautiful woman. I smiled and said, “Yes, dear.” So here I am.

Now the question is, “What do I write about?” On my main blog, Ledge End, I write stories about the corrections profession. I thought about trying to tie that in with what I know about WordWhiz. The problem is WW has only been in serious trouble with the law once and the charges were later dropped. (In WW’s defense, that boy really did look 18.) So I decided to write something to go along with the themes found in WW’s writing. After an exhaustive search through all of her archives, two recurring subjects appear: “Hunky firemen” and “love.” Since the only firemen I know are of the volunteer variety and definitely un-hunky, that leaves the subject of love.

This is the story of a man, (let’s call him Tom,) who, after triumphing over numerous adversities won the hand of a fair maiden. OK. It’s really the story of a man, (let’s still call him, Tom,) who, after numerous blunders and errors of judgment still managed, in spite of his failings, to win the woman of his dreams.

Tom lived in a mouse and squirrel infested mobile home in the country. His most recent relationship had ended badly, leaving him near penniless and devoid of pride or possessions. Being unwillingly celibate, Tom had decided to become a monk; either that, or a Rastafarian. Tom’s sole comfort lay in the knowledge that his only neighbor (and landlord) was also a highly acclaimed marijuana grower. It was this knowledge, and this knowledge alone, that kept him living the drudgery that had become his life.

It was about this time in this pathetic story, (“pathetic” referring to Tom’s life as well as this written piece,) that Tom found himself paying for gas in an old country store. An acquaintance and former colleague of the female persuasion walked up to him and engaged him in conversation. Tom had always been attracted to “The lady,” but they had never been unattached at the same time. During their conversation, “The lady” touched Tom’s arm in a friendly gesture. Immediately, all thoughts of “monk-dom” evaporated in Tom’s mind. He made a mental note to check if Rastafarians had to be celibate. With “The lady’s” phone number in hand, Tom sped away with hope once again in his heart.

Unhesitatingly, Tom planned his first move. “A card,” he thought. “A card….and a flower! That’s the ticket! Nobody says it like Hallmark…or Ziggy.” With his brain addled by infatuation and lust, (and years of too many hits on the old bong,) Tom went to Wal-Mart to pick out a card. Never missing a chance to screw something up or make an ass of himself, Tom picked out the most inappropriate card he could find and stuck it in “The Lady’s” door the next day. The front of the card said, “Wish you were here…” The inside of the card said, “…and NAKED!” After leaving the card, the last semblance of Tom’s better judgment made a fleeting appearance and he went back to retrieve the card before “The Lady” could find it. Alas, one of “The lady’s” offspring had already retrieved the card and taken it into the house.

Tom went home and sulked, regretting his existence, or at least his stupidity. A few hours later, “The Lady” called Tom. Much to his relief, “The lady” had found Tom’s card mildly humorous and minimally offensive. They talked long into the night.

Tom and “The lady” dated a few times in the ensuing weeks. Then Tom made his next blunder that turned out beneficial. He invited her to his humble commode, I mean crummy abode, for dinner. The dinner went well and they were relaxing on the sofa doing a little smooching while trying to ignore the sounds of critters crawling around in the walls and ceiling. “The Lady” excused herself from the proceedings to use the facilities. After a moment, “The lady” called Tom to the bathroom. “What is that?”, she inquired.

She was pointing at what appeared to be a small lizard’s tail protruding from the panel that adorned the side of the bathtub. Tom removed the panel and found that the tail belonged not to a small lizard, but to a thirty-inch chicken snake. Tom removed the chicken snake next, but that failed to calm the nerves of “The Lady.” She never entered his home again.

However, a couple of weeks later, she did invite Tom to move in with her. I think she felt sorry for him. After a couple years of pleading and begging, “The Lady” acquiesced and married Tom. Tom and “The Lady” lived happily ever after.

The End