At Times I Am Downright Maniacal

When I was in college, I took a trip out to Arizona to visit my friend who had moved out there while we were in high school. Scott was my best friend and it was great to see him again. As we toured the mean streets of Phoenix I thought it would be swell to impress some ladies. Being even more helpless with girls than I am now, I somehow came up with the idea that girls would be interested in us if we met a few basic benchmarks. A cellular telephone was, for some reason, important. Furthermore, being recently dumped and on the rebound would be a bonus. Seeing as we didn’t have any exes handy, I made it all up.

Don’t misunderstand and think I was wandering up to strangers and saying “hey my friend over there was dumped and I have a bitchin’ cell phone, make out with us.” Though that would have worked just as well as my actual plan. No, my plan was one of cunning subterfuge. I pretended to talk to a third friend on my cell phone as we stalked the streets. This was all make-believe. (Even the cell phone, I was talking into my wallet.) In a minute, poor Scott had been loved and left by Mallory Grant.

Mallory was a very pretty girl. She dyed her dark hair even darker, giving it a purple sheen. Her long bangs, the color of ripe plums, contrasted nicely with her eyes, which were such a light shade of brown that in the right light they looked almost orange.

She was an art major at Arizona State. That explained the unnatural hair color and her fondness for slightly eccentric outfits. Mallory (We started calling her Malalicious after she dumped Scott) had a thing for dark skirts and thigh-high argyle socks. Unfortunately, as an art major she was open to the sort of things outside mainstream, straight-laced society. She had done a little modeling for some of the life drawing classes to make a bit of extra scratch to pay for books and liked it enough that she went on to “model” with a male model in a film student’s senior project “The Irreversible Beauty of Mother Gaia” which involved Mallory taking it from behind in the woods for two hours from a dude dressed as a satyr. Naturally this marked the end of the relationship and the beginning of my own career as a patron of the arts.

I’m sure that some of you want to hear about how my incredibly stupid plan was a total bust. “Women don’t want a guy who’s just been dumped,” “women don’t care about fancy cell phones that look like and are wallets.” Well, I’m sorry but as it turned out it was a devilishly clever plan. A woman who was chaining up her bike asked me what time it was. I told her. I may have done so in an English accent. I really don’t know much about girls.

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