The Good Man

black-and-white-man-person-eyes

Readers might know that I’m not a blushing flower. This is due to the fact that I have already made every f-ing embarrassing mistake that a human can make and I consider myself immune to mortification.

So there’s this man (who looks nothing like the man in the photo)  who’s the neighborhood hound dog. You can practically profile him by his lurid smile and body language. I imagine that his marriage ended badly, that he wears a brace until disability is final, that he watches too much TV and drinks the goat piss that passes for American beer. I see him too often for comfort.

He’s asked me in for coffee. I politely refused. He offered to cook dinner for me and again I refused. He offered me a back rub. I told him my back was fine. In his mind, I was to dumb to understand what a great catch he was.

“What you need is a good man,” he finally said. Clearly, it was time for Jonna to show her Made in Lowell attitude.

“Really?” I moved in too close for comfort but he resisted the urge to step back. “Are you one?”

Wearing my craziest eyes I asked. “Tell me, what makes you a good man?” The hound stuttered and I may have heard him whimper. “And what makes you think you know what I need?”

This is the South. Rudeness sticks out. Female aggression is practically unheard of.

I like that about me. Thank you, Lowell!

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