the tireless, fearsome linguist

"You can write about me," she said. "As long as you call her Myra and she's a closeted him."

“After Myra Breckinridge?" I said.

"No, after Tori Amous. That's her real name."

"OK?"

"And instead of a musician, make her the owner of a bed and breakfast in  Montpelier, Vermont. And a linguist & a juggler."

"Duly noted."

"Will I get a cut of the action?"

"Not sure."

"I just want a small piece. So I can build a solarium."

"Anything else?"

"No, sir. Not in the slightest."

Why do I keep meeting these damaged women? And then I write about them and people accuse me of being a misogynist? I'm a realist. Plain and simple. Ya'll can go off on your own fantasies just like I go off on mine!

I just write 'em like I see 'em.

Take the rest of it up with their parents.

Reviews

[roarke]

there’s an old joke about bear huntin’ sake me sometime and I’ll tell you. but stop me if you’ve heard it before… seems an apropos answer to your question… yep, they’re out there, and you don’t even have to look under rocks or nuthin’ …. Hey, a backyard solarium never hurt nobody… I think… I dunno…. If’n you want realism, ya gotta go get some of those VR goggles… now THAT’S realism…. And um, Philip… buddy… ya gotta stop watchin’ them late night cable channels… jus’ sayin’.