Comedic commentary on the human condition.
The age gap brings a couple of other problems into it. Not with me generally as a rule, but with her end of it. See, a twenty-three year old Art Student with a formerly purple spike Doo and whom ironically eventually shaved it off her head for the kicks and giggles of it, whom ‘Goes European’ with the body hair, generally found it a turn off when she discovered I have children. Not that those children per se were the problem, but a twenty-four year old daughter, who by the way is an Art Student in Germany, not that I had much to do with her as a father.
Due an abortive career as a casual employee of U.S. Army Intelligence during this minor tiff called the Cold War meant that as far as fatherhood went at the time I had a rather limited influence. The most I did with my daughter was changing her diaper, and then I swaddled the ten-pound Butterball Turkey with a sawed off umbilical cord and stuffed a bottle in her mouth. The funny thing was I had to teach her mother to use the bottle.
European women have a three-dimensional vision of maternity plugged into their heads, so that was the only bottle Heidi ever had. Then I went away for twenty-four years and wound up with a six-foot one-hundred and sixty pound Art Student wearing my dog tags. Unlike her American counter parts, she didn’t shave her head for the kicks and giggles of it. However, she did have as much hair on her legs as her half brothers…More actually that all three put together but I suspect that once her nearest biological competitor stops being nineteen and starts being thirty, she’ll have a run for her money. In hindsight, it worked out the best for both of us.
Now the second problem is a real hornet’s nest of issues. Sometimes she figures I’ll get old, sick and then die leaving her with a pack of children when she’s middle aged. Or, at the very least, I’m being an ornery old goat that’s playing her sympathies with bucket loads of art supplies to woo her, and unlike most American women, the ‘Art Student’ has a tendency to be slick when it comes to men. They, unlike normal women, have figured out at heart men are German Sheppard’s, just a furry face and drooling muzzle looking for a squeaky chew toy. She saw me coming a mile away. Another problem is generally, they have a forty-six year old father.
For that, I have a solution.
Two actually, the first involves a fishing rod, the second a .44 Magnum. His choice. I prefer the fishing rod. Well, even a half-blind old goat like me has some squirrel in him. Every once in a long while I find a nut. Specifically in this case, I Love Pink the Bald who came with huge child bearing hips. Big square child bearing hips that upon first sight called out to me in the sweetest of voices…
Therefore, I answered.
Who was I to say no to such a jewel?
First, to be absolutely sure I heard that call of the wild correctly, I had to take her fishing. On a fine warm day around the last part of July, we absconded to my favorite ultra-galactic secret fishing hole, mislabeled on maps as the Allegheny River, Tidioute Eddy, south of the bridge, parallel to Route 62 North. Being reasonable in seclusion, in so far as there was a mountain to one side and a heavy wooded brush encrusted island to our backs she wanted to go skinny-dipping while fishing.
Why not? After all nudity is the human form in its natural state, and according to God, He didn’t have a problem with that in The Beginning and furthermore, He doesn’t make junk. That, and I like looking at her without the meditation shirt.
So once, she sufficiently bared herself to the world, nothing left but body hair and a bald-head two things happened. The first being I was sure I heard that call of the wild and five-minutes later, she was sufficiently, with the greatest of intent, baking biscuits. For me that was the goal, as for her I can only guess. The second thing that happened was less intent and more a matter of God’s sense of humor. After all, He figured us out thirteen billion years ago before He made that famous quote of His, ‘Let there be light!’ In due course, a guffawing Big Bang and plenty of space stuff and a series of cosmic jokes that became her, our baking bundle of joyful biscuits and I.
God has a deep sense of humor.
There she was up to her big square hips in water, wearing nothing but a hat with the fishing license, and the obligatory pistol permit attached to the pink flowery band, my fishing rod in hand, and a hand net over one shoulder. She made the hand net from biodegradable material and it wasn’t her best idea, plus my .44 Magnum under her right armpit.
The gun is almost as big as she is. I figured well, this is bear country. She shoots it better than I do, allot better than I do. I figure it has to do with twenty-three year old eyes, girl reflexes, that and by this time she figured out how to train my German Sheppard within. Therefore, she allowed me to think arming her with a thirteen-hundred dollar magnum was my idea. Personally, I think somewhere I became her squeaky chew toy. As she artfully proceeded to drown a night crawler, which she baited the hook herself, I was on the island trying not to have a heart attack from baking biscuits.
Low and behold, along comes in a tri-hull outfitted with one Fish Commissioner, one State Trooper, and the county Game Warden. Only in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. In other states you only get one guy with a badge, in this one, all bases are covered.
Her gun was bigger than theirs was.
I crawled under a bush and hid.
“Excuse me miss,” this Fish Commissioner chocked. “Just what are you doing?”
At this point, I will defend the Fish Commissioner. What else, how else, do you break the ice with a nude woman armed with a .44 Magnum and a fishing rod? Clearly, and undeniably, he resembled Ritchie Cunningham from Happy Days. In addition, from the blushing waves of pink, red, mauve, and indigo that cascaded across his face, entire upper body, including but not limited to his forearms, he had never even seen a nude woman...Not even his mother.
Honestly, while I like I Love Pink the Bald as she is, you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. Just a matter of personal taste not anatomy. This brings us to the point of why I really like her. How she handles situations like this.
“I’m fishing nude.” She wasn’t blushing. She looked at him as if he arrived from Mars though. “What makes you ask?”
At this point, the State Trooper just turned his head and tried not to laugh. The Game Warden didn’t say anything.
“Why?” he stammered.
“It’s either because it’s a hot day, or catfish like things that smell,” she shrugged. She then waited a second and went back to fishing.
“Doing any good?” the State Trooper asked, again, successfully not laughing.
Then God stepped in.
The catfish weighed in at twenty-four pounds.
They left after they ran her permits from the boat’s on-board computer. Fortunately, the photo portions of the aforementioned permits showed her bald also. They let her stay in the water during the process all of which took less than two minutes. With a ‘good day miss,’ they motored off slowly.
The Game Warden, gave me the thumbs-up before they turned the bend and sped off. The Fish Commissioner, once far enough out of sight, could be heard screaming something along the line of “Did I just see that?”
Of course, you saw that! Twenty-four pound catfish are pretty common in the Allegheny River. It made me wonder what they taught him about the commissioning of fish.
Did I make mention she also does taxidermy?
S. Wilhelm von Wahrenberger writes professionally and has published ‘He Came From Earth’ and ‘Hunters Killers Madmen Part One’. Both are available at Amazon.com