What’s wrong with straightforward? Why must
everything even semi-compelling tend toward the
oblique? In love (and its various offshoots) there
are those to whom the chase is by far the most inter-
esting part. Being of that persuasion for the majority of
my years, now I only play hard to get. Still obsessed, how-
ever, with the overly long (a few years is fine) and even
semi-ambiguous chase, this reduces my chances of a
palpable and palatable terminus (OK, consumma-
tion) to nearly nil. This presumably works well
when one is happily espoused (particularly
if yet unable to quell hopping around like
a rabbit). But for vested hedonists (es-
poused or not), this is conducive to
torture. Like waking up one morning
and realizing I’m a full-fledged extrovert
when all my years I’d been spuriously con-
fident in my introversion, realizing that I’m a
masochist after a lifetime of playing a pure-bean
vanilla romantic idealist is a groundbreaking, if
not utterly dementing, experience. Here’s a toast
to slews of such deliciously preposterous discoveries.
