When Katie walks in the door I recognize her at once. She maintains her sporty looks and pixie haircut. I relish watching her as she is unaware of me, looking from sombrero to sombrero wondering which I am under. But I am not wearing a sombrero, just in case they sent an agent. She is tentative, expectant, radiant. I smile as her eyes meet mine and nod to the door to suggest that we leave.
In the car we kiss with abandon, and I am overcome with strong emotions. She pauses and pointing to my cheese cooler says, “What is this in the floor well?”
“It is a cooler filled with cheese made from bacteria stolen from Helena Bonham Carter and Brooke Shields.”
She laughs, “You were always so funny.”
“We can put it in the back seat,” I say.
She puts it in the seat behind me and says, “OK, more room now. Where were we?”
I believe I hear police sirens. I strain. Yes. Unmistakable.
“We need to leave,” I say.
“Yes, let’s go somewhere private,” she says.
I slam the accelerator and peel out of the parking lot. I scream down the road as five police cruisers pass me on the way to the Bonsai Burrito. Once we are safe, I pull over and open my laptop.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“I do not appreciate this intrusion,” I say. “Give me a second.”
To register my displeasure for having our makeout session in the car interrupted, I sign Sal Laguidachek up for three Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints mailing lists. Then I log into his email and write them an impassioned plea to come visit me at my home. No matter how many times I
slam the door in your faces, keep at it! The devil has a hold on me, and I need you to help me break free and learn about when Jesus came to America.
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Editor’s note: Technically it is her vulva, not her vagina.