Standing here, gazing up at you on your porch as the crisp early-evening air envelopes the two of us, a poignant thought has come to me. I’m struck by how two people who’ve been acquainted for this short a period of time can have such an intimate understanding of each other’s deepest desires.
You: a woman who has unconditionally acknowledged that I am a man with needs — specifically, the need to sell industrial-strength cleaning supplies door to door. Me: a wayward soul who has swiftly and eagerly developed an appreciation for the fact that you don’t take kindly to uninvited solicitors. And given this “entente cordiale” we share, I feel there’s really no need to alert the police or whistle for your princely Doberman — I’m ready to take my leave. Truly, you had me at “Get the hell off my lawn!”
You see, there’s an overpowering symbiotic union that exists between us. I know you feel it, too — a connection so strong, it’s practically electric. You loathe those employed in the traveling sales industry, and ergo wish for me to remove myself from your property without hesitation. Meanwhile, I am equally eager to vacate these premises, being both concerned for my personal safety and acutely aware there’s zero chance of making a sale from an irate suburbanite with significant boundary issues. My vision may be a touch below average, but it doesn’t take a Lasik procedure to notice the adrenaline-fueled sneer emblazoned on your face.
I’ve come to realize your words are not unlike the hypnotic Sirens’ call that washed over Odysseus during his illustrious nautical adventures. Only in lieu of blissfully luring me towards your island shores, your goal is to verbally girl-slap me into submission until I’m as far from your field of vision as is mathematically possibly. Rest assured, the delicate subtext of a shrieking hausenfrau is not lost on these enlightened ears.
Or perhaps that cherubic melody I hear is simply emanating from the choir you’re preaching to. You know, on the subject of me getting “the triple-freak out of here!” as you’ve so elegantly phrased it. Believe me, given the large hay-riddled broom with which you’re attempting to swat my face, few words in the English language could resonate with me as penetratingly as those. I breathe in their blazing intent, feel satiated by their meaning, and subsequently exhale my undying reciprocity. Clearly, at this fateful juncture in time, not parting would be such sweet sorrow.
The devoted bond we’re sharing right now runs on a level so profound, few could fully grasp its mysterious workings. As evidence, I offer you this. A mere minute ago you somehow intuitively sensed my arrival, and managed to passionately descend upon me before I could even negotiate your ivy-covered stoop. And I in turn felt an unexplained rush of heart-fluttering adrenaline moments before you flew out the front door, your rage-fueled spittle glistening under the porch-light like the celestial Orion.
Your words, actions and body language have created a trifecta of unbridled dedication that embraces the very core of this kindred relationship. And yet, with emotions running so deliriously high, I find it a daunting challenge to express myself on a comparable level.
That admission aside, perhaps the intensity of my feelings for you, for us, and for this brief-but-all-consuming personal journey we’ve taken together might best be summed up as such:
Stop flipping out on me, you psycho! I’m going, already!
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