Chapter 2: Ed

Salad Stuff

Salad Stuff


“Stressing out”? “I need some water and maybe a little dirt”? Obviously not the opening line I’d use. I haven’t even seen her profile yet and already this chick’s looking like White Rock material. I don’t know. I’ve been out of the dating scene for a long time. Maybe this is the way young people talk today. That’s probably it.

Ok, let’s see. She’s stressed out and wants some water and a little dirt. I think I can figure that out.  The good news is, she would fit right in at the White Rock. The bad news is…ah…there is no bad news. I just need a few more beers to get down to her level. It’s all good. I got this.

Well this sucks. There is nothing on her profile. No picture, no description, age…nothing. The only thing I have to go on is “stress, water and dirt”. Wait a minute. That could be like “earth, wind and fire”. That’s it! This gal is deep!

Uh oh. Looks like my salad stuff from Bob’s is starting to wilt. I’ll just crisp it up here in the sink with a little water while I grab a beer. I can’t believe how I almost misread this incredible lady. And to think, if it hadn’t been for the internet, I would have never met her. We really do live in a wonderful age.

Got it! I have the perfect response for this incredibly profound human being. I’ll start out with the wind and work my way up to the fire and dirt.

“I will be the wind beneath your wings. I will be the mud for your turtle. When you get old and there is snow on your roof, I will be the fire in your chimney.”

Just press send… and…done. Sometimes I even surprise myself at how poetic I can be when the occasion arises. Wonder how long it’ll be before I get an answer? What the…I already have an answer? She sure can type. I guess I just press the green message tab.

“Thanks for the water, pal. I’m feeling better already. I think I can hold off until tomorrow for the dirt. A nine inch terracotta pot would be nice and maybe a spot that gets 6 hours of direct sunlight?”

I see how this works. She speaks in metaphors. She’d like a guy with nine inches that can last for six hours. Good luck with that. Believe me, that guy won’t be on this dating sight. Her expectations are a little high, but I like where she’s going with this. Enough of the poetics, it’s time for a reality check. Let’s see…type…press send…done.

“Send me your pic.”

Wow, she types fast. I barely pressed the send button.

“You don’t need a pic. I’m right here in your sink.”

(To be continued)





(To be continued)


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