First time readers, kindly read the first entry for October 27, 2012, when this story began . . .
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"Wanna get naked?"
Gotta love my friends.
I replied, "My poor landlord had to pay the hazmat team to remove the remains of a recluse from the mobile home where he'd died several days earlier. He doesn't need another bill from them to scrape my brains from the ceiling. Furthermore, that's not the way I want Dowagiac's finest to find my body. Forget the shell-shocked looks of my family at my funeral."
"You're bright and sexy," he continued. "Don't be so down on yourself."
Awwww . . . (expletive). He's trying to cheer me up, but it's not working.
I refused to return another friend's calls after she refused to stop needling me. "You don't want to die alone."
Got that one covered, thank you very much. The superstition that reminds us to wear clean underwear in case we are hit by a bus taught me not to store anything in the basement, because I don't want the police report to read, "Her dessicated corpse was found at the foot of the stairs. She'd apparently been on her way to retrieve a jar of pickled fruit."
I wear pajamas every night and wash the dishes before I go to sleep. That's a big step up from when I was afraid to leave a spoon in the spotless sink, terrified my mother-in-law would make a surprise visit.
It's a great improvement from the time when I worried my cat would feast on my remains before the neighbors wondered why the weeds had grown so tall. Although I'd be relieved the cat survived, I'd fret, posthumously, that she hadn't found a good home.
Then another message arrived from "man seeking woman."
"I'll be your electric blanket."
I've learned a lot in a short time. I didn't reply, "The cardboard beneath my car in the garage that catches drips probably should be replaced. How far can you suck in your gut?"
Here's another example of my newly acquired skill.
"I'd jump your bones in a heartbeat . . . " I hit "delete" before I read the rest of the message, which I was afraid would begin with "if" or worse, something obscene.
"How was your date?" my friend continues.
"The food was great."
"He picked up the tab," I added.
"Sounds like a good prospect."
"You're such a good friend, " I tease. "Ask me next if he asked me to open my mouth so he could count the number of gold fillings."
"Go for a walk," he suggested.
It's hard to believe I once ended calls from men who wanted to get in my pants with, "Take a cold shower," but I'm not yet at the point where I remind them to "take your Viagra."
"Thanks, friend," I say.
"Keep the faith." He replies.