Lorelei

I spoke with my personal life coach, Angela, today. She called me from Italy to ask me to show her townhouse to a prospective tenant. It's good to know that, if teaching university doesn't work out for me, a backup career in real estate's a possibility.

"What's happening with Boz?" she asked. I love how she pronounces his name like the speaker, rather than like the singer. "Has he called you?"

"Um, no," I had to admit. And yes, he knows my phone number. And my email address. And which door in the complex I live behind. And where I park my...you get the idea.

"He has to chase you."

Apparently, he doesn't.

"Are you saying that because it's that way with all men, or because you know something I don't know about Boz?" I asked.

Angela knows lots of things about Boz that I don't know. Like his wife, for example.

"It's with all men. If you want to be serious with them, they have to chase you."

Whoa, girl. I'm not the one looking for a husband!

"I don't want to marry him, Angela, I just want to go out for a beer."

And go back to his place afterwards.

Hey! Shut up, you!

"Have you seen him?" Angela asked.

Oh, sure, I see him all the time. We live in the same building, you know. I only wish that I didn't get that gawd-awful Styx song stuck in my head every time I see him.

"Oh, sure, I see him all the time," I replied, "Yesterday when I came out of my door he was down by the mailboxes, talking to Liz, our Postie, and when I saw him I said, Hi, sailor boy!"

And the day before that, we bumped into each other on the boardwalk and watched a pike swimming around in the marina for ten minutes. Must've been three feet long. Its dorsal fin stuck out of the water like a shark's.

Angela knows all about our sailing adventure a couple of weekends ago. And I'm not sure I want to tell you what she had to say about it. But right now, she said, "And what did he say?"

"He didn't laugh, but he did look at me and smile. You know Boz, he doesn't smile much. But when he does, he is so cute!"

What am I, in highschool?

"He doesn't know what to do," said Angela.

Oh, god, the irony.

"He and Tammi were together a long time—five years, I think," she continued,"So he doesn't know how to date."

Five years is not a long time, honey. Seventeen years, that's a long time. But even that's a drop in the bucket compared to, say, something like this.

"What do you talk about when you see him?" asked Angela.

Well, you, for one thing.

"Oh, you know, the usual. The progress on defeating the proposal for the expansion of the Tip Top building. The progress on defeating the proposal for the airport expansion. The progress on defeating the proposal for a bridge to the airport. You know Boz; that's what he's interested in."

Man, if ever a man needed to lighten up a bit...

"Are you interested in all those things?"

"Um, well, no," I had to admit.

But I could be.

"Could you be?" asked Angela.

"I suppose so," I replied.

"That's it, then," she said, with finality. "That's the way."

The way to get the boy is to pretend to like the things the boy likes?

My life coach had spoken.

Could be worse. Could've been frogs, or snakes. Or Lord of the Rings.

I'm thinking of writing a book called Everything I Know About Men I Learned In Highschool.

* * *
The federal election has been called for January 23 as a result of the marketing scandal, and Sass will have the opportunity to take Angela's advice.