I'm a poon

So I've been writing about love a lot recently, which I didn't really mean to do. I think it sprang from an assignment at work in which I had to read Vonnegut's "Long Walk to Forever" and an essay by Dan Hurley, the Sixty Second Novelist, about how he randomly met his wife by writing a story for her (the strangely prophetic story is reprinted in the essay). Anyways, I find both stories pretty lame, as I do with all love stories that involve fate, destiny, etc. What bothered me in the Vonnegut story is that the "happy" resolution, the resolution that the reader is likely rooting for, involves a girl leaving her fiancee to elope with her childhood best friend. Love, that bastard, conquers all, even marriage. Of course, that poor guy who just got dumped never gets a voice in the story. He's just an average guy. Real nice, reliable, take care of ya, treat ya right, but he lacks that je ne sais quoi that ignites "wuv, trwoo wuv (Princess Bride reference, folks). Vonnegut didn't even try to villainize him. So I started thinking about this sap's 60-second novel . . .

"A.W.O.L."
As Frank walked up to the door of the little stucco house he'd saved all last year to mortgage for his future family, he rubbed his finger over the brown velvet case that held his bride-to-be's wedding ring. Of course, he really couldn't afford such a nice ring, but, golly, his Catherine was worth the overtime.

Opening the door, he noticed Catherine had left a Modern Bride magazine sitting on the porch. That girl, he thought with a smile, probably admiring her four-figure wedding dress one more time. Her dress hung safely in the closet, but now the wedding was just a week away! He felt his heart blush at the thought of all the plans set into irreverisble motion as the date approached, and the huge amount of money that was now no longer refundable. But who cared? He was in love for the first time, for the last time.

But inside the house he found his good buddy, Slappy, sitting at the dining room table. Something looked wrong. "What's up, man?" Frank asked. "You looked bummed."

"It's Catherine, man."

Frank's heart raced. "What? What do you mean?"

"She's gone, dude. She ran off with that old friend of hers that's in the military."

"What? That little weirdo Newt? The guy who's always talking about how he's not circumsized?"

Slappy grimaced. "Yeah, him. She's gone A.W.O.L. with him, man."

Frank's knees wobbled. He had to sit down. From that day on, he hated women.


This got me to thinking. Are love stories only worth telling if they're dramatic? I mean, it seems like the love is more valuabe if it comes at some great cost or through some dire means. Imagine if we actually tried to realistically record more commonplace love stories, like . . .

"Afterglow"

The sun's soft, caressing rays alighted on her face like spring butterflies. The warm light made her round features glow, and she smiled into the pillow, feeling like the new woman she was. The covers were pulled a bit tighter than usual, and she turned over to find his cream-and-coffee eyes lovingly admiring her. She was glad she'd waited until she was in love, although he didn't know that yet. "I love you," she said to him for the first time. He smiled and brushed some of his curly auburn locks from off his forehead. Then he wrapped his arms around her and she bathed in his warmth.

Four months later, when they fought all the time, he got really drunk at a Kappa party and hooked up with some slut. So she dumped him.


Or even less dramatic than that, I could tell my parents' love story . . .

"The Wright Stuff"

They'd known each other for a while. She thought he was cute; sometimes she'd try to say hi to him when he delivered newspapers at her apartment complex. He was really quiet. Once he pushed her into a pool with all her clothes on. She got really pissed and left. "You sure ruined your chances with that girl," one of his friends said.

When they were seniors they started dating. Then they moved in together. One day, one of them said, "We should get married."

"OK" the other one said. They're still happily together.


Maybe you're into that whole cynicism thing . . .

"Love in the Suburbs"

They met freshman year of college. They got along pretty well. He knocked her up one night in her dorm during a roomate's-out-of-the-room session. He became a CPA; she joined the PTA. They never really wanted for anything. They went to church and made tithe. Their kids weren't total morons. Sex tailed off after about 10 years, but that didn't bother either of them too much. In the end, the decided life could have been worse. But maybe it could have been better.


Make what you will of all this. You'll see no more about it from me for a while. Love be damned: it's sexy time.