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She Had Everything (seeing red)

She Had Everything (seeing red)

How men’s minds will wonder, wander, and lust. Just this picture today transported me to my days in Maine as a preschool student. In my story her name was Nancy. In this photo, well, I have no idea what her name was. Immediately I was drawn in by her dramatic architecture and white dress. Her youth and piercing glance were hot enough to boil a lobster. But something was not matching up. Why was she in this photo? Is that a casting couch? Was that tiny whisp of hair near her neckline an accident or a shadow?

My Nancy would call herself a strawberry blonde. The vixen was clearly a red witch sent to captivate and control men’s urges. Entice. Inspire. But looking at her, this morning, I felt exhausted. I don’t want to go back to high school and do it all over again. It was hard. I had to leave near the end of my sophomore year because of mental health reasons. Not related to her. But this expression, these serious lips, said something I was no longer responding to. Sure, she was amazing. But at my age, I didn’t really want to hear her Hungarian-English accent. I didn’t want her to take her clothes off. No, it was better as a dream sequence. It was better when I was her age, and yet not.

I adore women. I admire young antelope. I think Ferraris are cool. But I don’t want for anything at the moment. I have everything I need this morning. The honeysuckle are planted at the front of my house and the day ahead is filled with delight. A delight that has nothing to do with redheads, firey crotches, or lusting after a youthful memory. Nancy is just fine where she is, in my teenage chemical memories, still stored and triggered on occasion. It’s what I do with that information that’s more important these days.

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