Well, I Blew It Again

My chance to have an affair, that is.

I was down to the Gilligan's Island Lagoon on the riverbank last night with my good friends Zak and Slater when Three-Dollar Bill, a neighbourhood character turns up with a couple of hippie chicks - one being his ol' lady and the other being their friend. They were all high on mushrooms and smoking 'pot' and after a while, it became apparent to me, that the one girl - I think she liked me!

I say this not because of any overt flirting. Or meaningful silent glances. Or an 'accidental' soft brush of her hand on my knee. No, I say this because she sat down alongside me on the grass and actually carried on a conversation with me while the others were getting tips on how to save on your water bill by using rainwater to flush your toilet.

I don't want to read too much into this - but I had the definite feeling that she found me fascinating. She sat there looking into my eyes with rapt attention. Hanging on my every word. Then again, maybe it was the mushrooms.

So when she asked if she could have a sip of my beer, I offered her a whole can of her own. And considering that I only went down there with four cans and had already consumed one and had an open one in my hand and that would only leave me with one beer for the rest of the night... well, you can understand what an unselfish considerate gesture that was.

You know, this isn't the first time this has happened to me down there. Maybe that's what has been drawing me back for the past quarter-century.

The other time was about 10 years ago. I was down there with my friend, Stanley who had dragged along his guitar and was singing Gordon Lightfoot at me. When out of the lengthening shadows of twilight, these four young girls come out of the field and run smack dab into us. They were celebrating the end of high school by having an all-girl bush party. And so they joined us.

Now, I've read enough letters to the editor in Penthouse's Forum section to know what the possibilities were. Four girls. Two studs like me and Stanley. You do the math. But the problem was the guitar. It made for a seventh wheel. In other situations, the guitar is a wonderful aphrodisiac. Women love to hear a guy playing a guitar. It's a fact. And it's a natural fact that young hippie girls just out of high-school love it even more. It just does something to them. It shakes them. It quakes them. It makes them feel all goose-pimply all over.

But not on that night. And the problem was with what the guitar was saying. At that point, Stanley was going thru a Gordon Lightfoot phase. And the only song he knew was 'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.' Well, to make a long story short, nothing happened and they left shortly after that. Let's just say this, if you ever want to pitch woo or impress women, if you sing a song with the words "Lake Gitchigoomi" in it, then you can pretty well kiss off your chances of getting laid.

.... Anyways, back to last night. Eventually, the girls wanted to leave because they were stoned out of their minds and had started thinking about food. Even the instructional talk about how to embalm your mother-in-law for a do-it-yourself funeral at home didn't dampen their appetites. So they split. And I sat there - one beer short, basking in the glow that I had made a new friend. And thinking, "Hey, that girl liked me!" And I mean really liked me. If you know what I mean. And then realizing, "Oh, shit - I blew it again!" Another misssed opportunity to have an affair with a younger woman. Which is my right as it is of every man who is having a mid-life crisis.

But who am I kidding. Nothing would have happened. I'm too much of a gentleman. Sad to admit, but I'm just not the Warren Beatty type. And the truth is that I love my wife too much to do anything as cheap and tawdry as have an affair. But the thing is - I think I could have!

So I went home and woke up Mabel and told her all about it. And she said, "That's nice dear, I'm glad you had a good time."

Well, thanks alot for being jealous. Could you act just a bit surprised or worried? Could you at least pretend that there's a possibility that other women find me fascinating. That other women might actually want me. And want me passionately. In an inwardly-downwardly manner? That some women just might be attracted to my wild and impetuous ways?

And Mabel responded by laughing and quoting directly from The Seven Year Itch - "The only thing wild about you, Richard is your imagination."

Well, that hurt. Okay, fine for you this time, Mabel. Be happy with your illusions. Because other than you, there are such women out there. Plenty. Believe you me.