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Cholera in the Time of Cholera

February 14, 2011

February 14 is the second day of the Lupercalia festival, which I appear to be the only one celebrating around here judging from how everyone else is wearing clothes and getting really weirded out when I run up to them in my birth canal departure apparel to slap them with goat skins. It’s also Valentine’s Day, a yearly celebration dedicated to congratulating the attached and mocking the single. Obviously I am in the latter category, although, as per usual (I like that one almost as much as I like “irregardless”), not for lack of trying on the part of others. In the spirit of wistful nostalgia, I thought it would be helpful to provide the reader with a rundown of my 2010-2011 encounters with would-be ravishers, seducers &c. No need to take notes; just bookmark this page for easy reference.

MARCH 2010: Total stranger who saw me do a reading the previous month asks me for my phone number. E-mail address provided instead–not my real one, my other one. The ladies know what I’m talkin’ about. (E-invitation to coffee respectfully declined.)

APRIL 2010: My first threesome offer! Boo-yah! (Transaction awkwardly declined.)

JULY 2010: After giving a tour I earn $12 in tips from middle-aged men who are apparently fond of my sleeveless floral top. Score! (Cash gratefully accepted. Accompanying winks thoroughly unappreciated.)

SEPTEMBER 2010: Swingin’ bachelor in neighbouring apartment posts a sign on his window inviting me on a date. Questions abound. Some of the major ones:

  1. How long has he been staring into my apartment fantasizing about taking me out on a date?
  2. How could he not realize that I would be creeped out by that?
  3. Is it “creeped out” or “crept out”?
  4. What age does he think I am and how can I get him to add 5-8 years to that estimate without socially interacting with him? (Declined via silent treatment.)

OCTOBER 2010: Total stranger who saw me do a reading that night asks me if we can hang out. (Brusquely declined.)

JANUARY 2011: Man at Starbucks tells me I have beautiful eyes. By beautiful he probably means haunted or enraged but can’t think of the word fast enough. A few days later he tells me it’s nice to see me again. (Implicitly declined. I begin buying my work coffee at 7-Eleven or bringing it from home.)

Well, the verdict is in, I guess: people still want to get freaky with a Strayer, despite my advancing age, perpetual studentdom, and total failure to get any of my poems published in the Paris Review. One can only imagine what the future holds, but it is likely that the instigators will be weird people and that they might just as well purchase an introductory Latin textbook instead, because either way, they’re about to experience all kinds of declension.

Next week: an examination into every writer’s fantasy of meeting and falling in love with, or pretending to fall in love with while being fallen in love with by, a scientist or executive-level professional with a sexually attractive income.

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