My Current Girlfriend, A Burnt Wig, and Just One Lifetime

I met my current girlfriend, Kerstin, in a drive-thru pharmacy where she is the Chief Pharmacist. While she looked weary, I was drawn to her intense blue eyes, the curve of her lips, her natural dark brown hair, her overt beauty. I also felt attracted to the tattoo lettering on her forehead: Shake Well Before Use. I tried to cheer her up with a few witticisms. It seemed to work. She listened and smiled, 'You're crazy'. Then she laughed, 'You're crazy.'' I worried this might be the extent of her vocabulary? Thankfully, I was mistaken.

She has a habit of pinching my cheek but always brings it back. She enjoys it when I quietly plead,'Who's stolen my soft, well-shaved cheek?' 'What shall I do without it?' Infantile, I know, but if it makes Kerstin laugh, I'm happy to oblige. Kerstin loves dancing. I love shooting inanimate objects. Perhaps that's why she doesn't hear every word I say to her. She's too busy dodging bullets.

The inevitable road to decay in our relationship hasn't set in yet. I give it another three months, or, until my ammunition runs out. Kerstin can be sensitive and ask stupid questions: "Am I beautiful?" "Is my sister prettier than me?" "What time's tea?" She's still cute, so I take whatever she throws my way, including furniture.

Today a passer-by told me my hair was on fire. Unfortunately, I left it on the train. I immediately ran down the rail track like an escaped convict. I had to retrieve the wig at all cost as it belongs to my neighbour, Herry Guttenchest, who likes his hair uncombed, not half-cooked. He had kindly lent me his wig to wear (crooked, of course) in a "police lineup". It appears the victim - Monsieur Flambé - had the sharp creases stolen from both trouser legs while going to the top of the Eiffel Tower. What if the assailant looked like me? Who would believe it wasn't me?

As I raced past a station platform I was chastised by waiting passengers for never being on time. I remember thinking I would write to the newspapers regarding this matter when I suddenly fell from a railway bridge into a river. Some men on a barge fished me out. The water was icy and black. I asked if they'd seen a burnt wig. My inquiry was met with silence, distrust, strange looks. I knew they thought I tried to drown myself.

I had to think fast. YES ...! I'd bath and tell Herry Guttenchest his wig had been stolen. To make it viable I'd say the assailant had one-leg, and had been riding a unicycle sideways down an escalator in a store downtown. He should buy that; he bought the wig, after all? I started to laugh. The men on the barge looked at me with bewilderment and silence.

Reflections: One tends to make a lot of mistakes in just one lifetime. For example:

• measuring a lover's arm with a spring tape measure during lovemaking;
• following a spouse disguised as a cigar, a dress maker's dummy, three policemen, or, an adjoining room, to establish if they are up to no good, or, at least, shoulder height;
• saying 'perhaps', enigmatically, too often;
• helping someone on with their overcoat while they are sound asleep in bed;
• mimicking the cry of the Great Black-backed Gull during a long silence at a senior management meeting;
• placing soap on interior door handles, cupboard and drawer knobs, and your Grandfather, etc., while leaving a nanny in charge. Then have the audacity to shake their hand when they depart to see if they have tampered with your possessions, or, indeed, your Grandfather's;
• misconceive the green grass in a field swaying in the breeze to be an ocean and decide to go scuba diving.

I could conclude the list with something memorable but who would remember it?