Remaining Virtuous.

A woman of some ten years acquaintance told me yesterday that I have beautiful eyes. Well now, such an outlandish and patently untrue statement can mean only one thing: she’s missing the male component in her life and wants to get her feet under my table.

She won’t, of course. I do actually like her a lot, and she’s a rare example of someone from whom I can accept a hug without retching, but my table now is like one of those contraptions in which babies sit to be fed their slop. Room for one only. That’s how I like it.