A long time ago…
In a coffee shop far away…
I met a girl.
“What celebrity do people say you look like?” I asked.
She looked surprised. “Ummm, I don’t know.”
“Yeah, I don’t know who you look like either.”
For the record she looked like Uma Thurman, if Uma was Latino.
I slipped into my jacket and tried to find my hat. “Everyone says I look like a famous musician.”
“Oh, which one is that?” she asked.
“K.D. Lang.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
Ackk! “Never mind. You make me feel old.”
She set her book down. “How old are you?”
“Take your age, double it, divide by four and add your phone number.
She thought about that. “Four million, three hundred and seventy eight thousand, four hundred and forty four?”
“But I like younger women.”
“That’s original.”
I stood up. “Especially the sassy ones. I’ll call you at 8 on Sunday. I’m thinking the Guggenheim followed by a dry white wine at the Rink. Where’s your boyfriend this weekend?”
“Out of town. He won’t be coming back.”
I didn’t know if she meant that weekend or ever.
If you’re wondering, it took me eight tries. She was 23. Her boyfriend had turned gay and ran away with a trapeze artist.
THE END
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