A few years back, a woman enquired about motorcycle ownership. However, the conversation she led me into had less to do with two-wheeled transportation and more to do with graphically confusing sexual innuendoes and painting a nightmarish portrait of her reproductive system. I remember it being an unexpectedly rainy spring day and she had been directed to me after asking a coworker of mine who owned the motorcycle in the parking lot. I was intently nervous and had assumed that some catastrophe had befallen it. Happily, that wasn’t the case, she just wanted my opinion on purchasing a small motorcycle, or scooter, and how it would change her life.
For the first five minutes, everything was fine. She seemed eccentric but normal enough. She could have even been considered attractive if she had taken better care of herself. Her hair was frizzy and her old sweatshirt had enough stains on it to be featured in a detergent commercial, but I assumed she was just an exceptional example of environmental responsibility. Then again, I suppose there are a lot of euphemisms for “filthy” going around these days. It turned out that she was just crazy and this became painfully apparent as she was taking notes. Instead of writing down any information or advice she would pick a word, at random, and then scribble it down and circle it. Then she would talk about how great that word sounds.
At one point I said, “Well, you’d want to be delicate with the throttle and clutch but you’ll get the hang of it eventually.”
This caused her to fixate on the word delicate. She wrote it down seven times, underlined it, asked me what it meant, told me she liked the sound of it and then promised me she’d start using it more often. It was, at this moment, that I realized that something was a little more than off. She started telling me her story and that she believed, if she could get a small motorcycle, it would somehow lead to her regaining custody of her two children. I was absolutely trapped. I was trapped in this conversation and I knew that I was going to have to endure a more crestfallen brand of bizarre than I normally seek out. She had fallen upon hard times and I was privy to the entire story. I tried to steer the conversation back toward the topic of motorcycles and told her that I didn’t bring rain-gear with me and, as a result, my pants were soaked to a point that it was making the seat wet. This backfired so, so badly. Her response was, “I know how that goes, I’m always worried about it. Things really haven’t been the same down there since I had my children.” She then compared her vagina to a car that needed a tuneup and winked.
My brain refused to identify anything she said after that. I’m fully aware that she spent the next three minutes giving me qualitative and quantitative data on her sexual habits, menstrual-cycles, bladder issues and ways to cope with them, but it all fell upon predominantly deaf ears. She eventually stopped to apologize for being so graphic and claimed that I was someone she felt comfortable talking to. She said, “You seem very smart and like you wouldn’t judge me. Sometimes I say things that are inappropriate and do things that not everyone thinks are a good idea.” and then slowly began hitting on me. At least, I think she was hitting on me. She touched my arm a few times, told me that I was handsome and proposed that we should go somewhere private while also continuing to go off on tangents about every topic imaginable. She was easily distracted and, at one point, began commenting on how good oranges are when she noticed someone eating one nearby.
Admittedly, I do have a tendency to go for more aggressive women. I like it when someone spends a little time flirting and then makes their intentions obvious. However, this tactic loses its effectiveness when it is prefaced by describing one’s uterus like the goriest of Civil War battles. Conjuring up a nightmarish sexual landscape probably isn’t the best icebreaker. Although, I bet it would work for some people (maybe even me, if it’s in the format of a joke) and I still hope she found true love. I guess I hope we all find true love, or something akin to it, and have as much fun in the meantime as possible. But don’t be too quick to seize something, don’t be afraid to let something pass you by and don’t be so eager to let something go. We’ve all made mistakes or missed opportunities because we were scared, selfish, crazy or jaded.