Chapter 9

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I've never liked games. They're too much work, and who really cares about "winning", unless it's winning the Lottery or something. I have a very finite, very specific amount of physical and mental fuel for each day's efforts, and it barely covers survival, thank you.
(It's a handicap. Where's my check?)

There is, however, a no-effort amusement that I do engage in. Whenever I find myself in conversation with a beautiful (or merely hot) woman, it is a 100% Guarantee that sooner or later she will emit the words, "my Husband".

It's fun for me to measure how long it takes for this to happen.
Sometimes it's almost the first words out of her mouth, which suggests to me that she feels a responsibility to fend off every man, interested or not. Maybe she's a little uncomfortable, which is understandable.

Sometimes the conversation goes on for a while, several sentences, before she does it. This to me displays a good level of self-confidence -- which I admire, especially in the case of a mature hottie who has surely had to deal with a few unpleasant situations involving unpleasant men.


At work, we used to have a Girl Friday named Karen.
She was quite mature, but she was one of those women who just look better and better every year. She was a very hot granny, head to toe, and a sweetie too.

She had absolutely no fear of other women. I'd come in with a vintage garage-sale find girlie commercial promo item, or some classic pinup art, and she'd be amused by it.
"That's cute!"

No fear. I like that.