My great grandmother used to say, “There is no fool like an old fool,” and that adage certainly pertains to yours truly. I can’t even make sense of the emotions gripping and tormenting me. I am in a constant state of agita and feel compelled to eat myself into a stupor (nothing unusual about that, I admit). What is this thing that afflicts me? I only know that when we visit my grandparent’s friends, or they us, and their magnificent mixed breed dog, Chloe, appears, my legs turn to rubber.
Her eyes are two bottomless orbs of amber, seductive and intelligent at the same time. Her legs go on forever, with incredible muscle tone and development. Her coat glistens with health and snaps with electric energy. She moves like a gazelle and she barely knows I exist. I must crane my neck and head back dangerously in order to even look at her face. Have I mentioned her manners? She is elegant, polite, considerate, unobtrusive, and wholly unattainable. I’m a gonner.
I have no one to whom I can turn for advice. Lizzie is such a loser and is always mooning about, looking at me with calf eyes. Grandma and Grandpa would laugh, I am sure, at the obvious disparity between us. The thought of being separated from the object of my desire is making me wild with anxiety. There is no pain like the pain of unrequited love. In my frustration, I’ve turned to abusing my little bear again. Mom says he is my comfort object, which is partially true, but he is also my punching bag.
In her presence I become tongue-tied and insecure. I strut like a puffed up Banty rooster. I am pathetic, I know, but I seem unable to move away from this adolescent posturing around her. Just one look from her sends me into a swoon. Did I mention how kind she is? I need help and I need it soon. Dearest Chloe….