Small Talk

I was on the deck, outside the resort's dance hall, this weekend. A light drizzle was pattering off the leaves of some nearby trees but the breeze was still warm. Through the double doors into the club I could see several dozen couples swaying to Etta James' At Last.

Davey walked out, fishing a cigarette from his pocket. I flicked open my Zippo and lit it for him.

"Where's your girl?" I asked, looking past him at a tight little behind I hadn't noticed before.

"Oh... we, uh, broke up." He said quietly.

"Really? I thought she was a keeper."

"Well, we had a communication problem. I mean, I couldn't say anything without her misunderstanding me."

"Maybe you mumble." I suggested.

"I don't mumble." he said.

"What?"

"I said I don't... Ah, shut up Johnny."

"Jeeze," I replied. "Maybe that's why she left you."

"She didn't leave me, I left her!"

" 'Cause I heard you don't communicate so good. You know what I mean?"

Davey just stared at me for a couple of heartbeats. Then he continued his story. "A good example of her not understanding me was our last phone conversation."

Go ahead, I nodded telepathically.

"I swear, she was like Gracie Allen. We were going 'round and 'round about something when, finally, I'd had enough. So I said to her, 'Listen, we're breaking up.' She was quiet for a second or two and then she said real loud, 'Can you hear me NOW?' "

When we both stopped laughing, he flicked his butt over the rail and into a puddle. The song inside had changed and he said, "Later." and went in.

A moment after that, Frank walked out. Frank is a day trader and is always talking finances. "I think my ARM is getting ready to readjust." he said morosely.

"Have you tried using shorter strokes?" I asked.

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Alien Autopsy

I was sitting in my outdoor office (on the bar stool behind the tiki bar), doodling on a yellow tablet. This is how I kick-start a lot of my ideas. I heard a knock on the inside of my sliding door into the living room and, as I looked up, it slid open and my buddy Al walked out onto the deck. His tousled hair and tight physique belied his sixty plus years.

"What're you working on?" he asked as he glanced at my note pad.

"Just an idea." I replied vaguely.

"Yeah," he said, "like Guy Stuff at the Mall was just a story about a sporting goods store."

"Well... it was!"

"O.K. So what's this one about?"

"Remember a while back I wrote a piece poking fun at the male/female thing called Are Women Aliens? I was kinda pokin' fun at that book Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus and came to the conclusion that Women are from Venus and that Men are from Earth. Remember?"

"Sure."

"O.K., so I got to thinking about why a lot of relationships end and being a man, and assuming women do things and make decisions for un-earthly reasons, I thought if I could dissect a past relationship... you know, like what makes a girl tick?, I could call it an Alien Autopsy."

"It's funny... but I don't know..." Al muttered. "You could be shooting yourself in the foot."

"C'mon, everyone knows I'm only kidding around! Besides, if we can't laugh at each other, who can we laugh at?"

"So, what're you thinking?"

"I dunno." I said looking down at my tablet. "It is a lot of contradictory behavior. Stuff like: 'If she's already been divorced five times, how can I be the problem?' Or: 'She drinks wine for three months and, just when I buy a case of the stuff, she switches to rum.' Or: 'She doesn't want to go to the night club any more but still wants to take dance lessons.' "

"What else have you got?" he asked.

"How about: 'She wouldn't tell me until 30 minutes before if she was coming on a date but she had to know two weeks early if I was going to one of her functions.' Or: 'She would blow off three dates in a row and when I would mention it she tells me she can't take the drama.' Or, listen to this one: 'She insists on a "monogamous" relationship but isn't ready for a "committed" one.' "

"Oh, and never, ever, ever use the word 'whatever' even though she wants you to accept what ever she throws at you."

"O.K." Al finally said. "I am beginning to get the alien part. And... I guess it's safe to say that you are dissecting it after it's dead... hence the autopsy."

"See? You are getting it. But you know," I replied, "the alien analogy doesn't end there. Asking someone what they are thinking during an intimate moment is a lot like vivisection. You know - dissecting something while it's still alive? Aliens are supposedly doing that when they abduct humans."

"You don't mean...?"

"Yes..." I answered. "I think I've been probed!"

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