A woman asked me out for a picnic. She doesn’t know me very well.
“A what?”
“A picnic.”
“Why would I want to go on a picnic?”
“C’mon! It’ll be fun.”
Now in my mind, I have priority lists of things that are fun – most of them are legal. “Picnic” does not even make my “So You’re Still In a Coma?” fun list.
“Well it might be fun for the ants and flies – but I just never “got” picnics,” I said.
“Lots of people go on picnics,”, she said.
“Look,” I said, “do you know how many thousands of years it took for humans to go from rock caves to Levittown?”
“What’s a Levittown?” she asked.
“I mean picnics are held OUTSIDE, right?”
Her eyes narrowed – she wasn’t going to get trapped on this one. “So?”, she said.
“The outside is where they keep the ants, flies, mosquitoes, wind, rain, and dirt – right?”
“I’m going,” she said, getting up. I hadn’t even realized our ‘relationship’ had risen to this level of dementia.
“Where are you going?”, I said.
“Out. To the doctor’s – the dentist’s – fill in whatever excuse you want.” And she left.
TBD – (right). I wonder if the “Orange Woman” likes older men who don’t like picnics?