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“Dearest Margaret, I think you could be the one,” Jasper said with hopeful eyes.
Margaret repositioned her massive girth to face Jasper. A feat that came with a small grunt. Moving that much weight was always a chore. “Do you really thinks so?” Her face began to glow like a newly opened ham in a well-lit kitchen. Her sweat like the packing gel of a honey glazed.
Jasper confirmed. “I mean, I could be wrong, but I think so.” He looked down at his watch. It was 1:50am. He glanced back up to look into Margaret’s eyes. Wherever they were. He hadn’t noticed before, but her head looked like a bowling ball. Not because it was round, but because of her eye sockets. They seemed to be drilled out of her head. Recessed into the growing fat cells that engulfed her. Finger holes. He wondered where he would place his thumb. “What do you say, darling?”
Margaret had dreamed of this day. She had always heard of a soul mate, and she desperately wanted to find hers. Was this it? That moment where her life truly begins? Where the transformative aspect of love finally points her in the right direction. She imagined what their kids would look like. Excitedly she said, “Oh, Jasper. Yes! I think you could be the one too. Are you definitely sure?”
Jasper scanned the room one last time. He said, “Yep. I’m pretty sure. I believe you are the last woman here at the bar. So, I guess you’re it.”
Margaret beamed. She moved her considerable size with a speed that startled Jasper. She grabbed him and pulled him into her. “Finally! My prince charming!” She squeezed him with all her might.
“Jesus, honey,” Jasper squeaked. “You’re breaking my ribs.”
Why do people believe in the concept of a soul mate? Living their life as if it was incomplete. Waiting for that moment when the stars align; the roosters gather; the balls firm. Whatever contextual moment speaks to you. It’s feels futile to search for that.
On a daily basis, I could find the “one.” Not in a sexual way, but I suppose it could lead to that. I’m simply saying: Everyday I come across somebody I’m attracted to. It’s a superficial attraction, but it’s there. A waitress at the diner. A patron at the bar. A woman I’m seated next to on an airplane. They’re all interesting in some way. They are greater than the “one.” They are the many.
I’m attracted to men as well. Not sexually at all, but it’s the same initial feeling. Who are you? Why have you come here? What is your deal? Where did you get that Dead Kennedy’s shirt? Of course I love Tarantino movies. Is your hand gesture a Longhorns thing, or are you telling that lady you would like to give her the shocker? Like a magnet, I am pulled to people everyday. I find them curious.
To operate under the guise that only one possible person could placate my curiosity is ridiculous. Only one person could give me an erection is absurd. Only one person could stimulate me intellectually is retarded. If any of my interactions lead to a blow job, fine. But it’s not because that person is the “one.” It’s because my curiosity lead me there. Sometimes it leads me to a bowl of guacamole. Hello, stranger. Would you like to experience my guacamole? Could I have an extra plate please? I don’t like double dipping.
Hey, look at that. We’re getting to know each other. Now tell me about that mole on the end of your nose. Are you a witch? Oh, you have some guac on there. Boy, that thing sure gets in the way.