Really, her name was Midge. Really. I'd never met a Midge before. I've met a Madge. I've met a Mildred. But never a Midge. Really. Midge. Can you imagine?
Not only that, if I'd been asked to guess her name. I'd have guessed, Midge. Even though I've never seen one, she looked like one. Her hair looked like it was styled years ago and then held together by layer after layer of spray. The lacquered look. God's honest truth, there was a small blue bow in her hair. Guess the colour. Go ahead. I won't tell you, but just guess. Try to be exact.
Anyways, Midge and I, we two, bonded the other day at the mall. I had to get away from the noise and confusion of the move and went to the concourse nearby our apartment downtown. After pushing myself for a bit I was tired so I stopped by a cluster of chairs. Midge magically morphed into position beside me. She was all agog at my independance as a disabled person.
Midge talked as if she was practicing for the gossip olympics. Normally this kind of thing bothers me but she was distracting and funny. She had all sorts of tales about people with disabilities in her family. My gosh, Midge's family was practically busting out all over with cripples. They all live quite a good life to, thank you very much.
Then she focussed attention on me. When I told her that I had a job, I thought she practically orgasmed with delight. I tried out the title of my new position (got a wee promotion at work) and said I was Director of ... I couldn't get by 'Director' because Midge was on and on about how good it was for men with disabilities to feel like men. To earn a living. It does wonders for the masculine sense of self. Midge had read an article or two on 'What Men Need' I'm sure.
I promise you, I didn't see it coming.
You probably do.
But I didn't.
Then, she laid her hand on me knee at looked at me with ... with ... with l-o-n-g-i-n-g. She wanted me. She desired me. I saw her hand run up and down the rim of my wheelchair as she asked where I lived and did I live alone.
This never happens to me.
Well, once, in a bar in L.A. but that's another, seedier story.
So let's go back to ... This never happens to me.
I didn't know what to do. I can tell off a stranger in an instant, if necessary. But what kind of man breaks Midge's heart. All sorts of things ran through my head 'I'm gay' being the first of many. But Midge looked like the kind of girl would would want to make a cripple walk, turn a gay man straight. I simply said, "I am about to celebrate my 40th anniversary."
Midge backed right off. She might be many things, but she ain't no homewrecker. Not our Midge. She congratulated me for being the kind of man with principles.
She told me to tell the 'missus' how lucky she is.
And believe me, I did.