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Brushing off Joe Blank

Gunther Boccius

    Ain’t she sweet?
    I asked her very confidentially, whispering across the table, “Why are we here?”
    Brenda looked confused. Her head shook in a bewildered reflex. One offcenter bang drooped into her eyes. Quickly brushed away.
    “You asked me to meet you. At least, I thought you did.”
    “Yes, of course I did.” My rhetorical question had gone awry. Dry humor with a relative humidity lower than the Sahara desert does not go well in mixed company.
    “Its meaning was broader than present circumstances.” My nose itched. I rubbed it back and forth vigorously. “My query has wider implications.”
    “And they are?” At least she was willing to play the game.
    “Yes, I asked why we are here. Where is your ‘here’ located? Who are you? How do you take your coffee? Are the procreation habits of your parents the only reason for your existence? I’m curious about you.”
    Like that. Wider implications. My smile widened to full Cheshire status.
    Her face returned my smile. “I get it. You want to get to know me.”
    “Bingo!” I love it when there is a connection this early in a Starbucks coffee date.
    “Is the ‘we’ us? Or is the ‘we’ everyone?”
    My goodness, the wisdom of this woman. I may have hit the mother lode. She had a trim body, oval face and a dimple on her chin. Now this.
    “Initially, you and me. Us. Eventually, when we talk topical stuff, humans on the planet. Everyone. I’m curious about people.”
    “I’m not.” She was succinct. “Speaking about parents, mine have DNA that traces back to the Mayflower. Does that count? Good pedigree, huh?”
    Brenda had jumped right over the “we” to the “everyone.” Light on her feet.
    So was I. “Before we talk ‘can-you-top-this?’ bloodlines, let me divulge my origin. My gene pool is a pack of mutts. Does that put me in the doghouse?”
    “Depends. Bark worse than your bite? Potty trained? Do you fetch or roll over?”
    “All of the above. I need a treat for everything I do.”
    Her smirk did not tell me whether she was pissed or pleased. She looked out the window at the passing traffic. A screech. Honk. Angry words. Normal afternoon.
    “Humor is important to me, Joe,” Brenda said, returning her attention to us from everyone. “But it needs to be part of a serious relationship leading to family holidays in Menlo Atherton with my parents.”
    The mood abruptly changed. “C’mon, lighten up. Planning holidays before finishing your coffee? We talked adult behavior. Chatter about mutts was whimsical.”
    “Adult behavior is serious to me. I’m looking for a good man, not a mutt.”
    “Do you know what a quantum leap is?” It was not a rhetorical question.
    “Yes,” she replied with a clipped voice. “English was my major in college. Quantum leap was apparently what I did coming here today. My mistake.”
    Brenda stood up, slung her fashionable coat over one arm and drank her coffee. “I should have known looking online at your Facebook picture. You’re old and no looker.
    “I fancy young and cute. You described yourself as a mutt. It was the first real thing you said to me. Mutts are bad news. You and I will not be compatible.”
    She disdainfully threw a wad of one dollar bills on the table and stalked out. Watching her do a princess-step down the street, I smiled at her posturing.
    Our coffees had previously been paid at the counter with my credit card. Was her contemptuous toss supposed to double down on the bill? Or was she paying for my time?
    My looks are definitely distinctive, distinguished and unique. The money must have been to compensate for my beauty. No other explanation.
    I gave myself another moment, got up and stretched. It was just as well. Menlo Atherton in December is not my cup of eggnog. Married to upper society? Naw! Mutts don’t get hitched.

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