been involved in raising me for much of my life- therefore, I had learned the patterns that they had taught me- or so I implied.

It was bizarre that on my second date I was willing to let myself be grilled by Heather’s parents. The fact was that I was head over heels, crazy in love with her. I was willing to throw myself at any obstacle- even if it was as daunting as her parents- to win her love in return.

For about three months I was over at Heather’s house almost every night. I worked a twelve to fifteen hour day, then I’d rent a movie or two, buy a steak, and go over to her house and cook dinner. We’d watch movies into the wee hours of the morning, after which I’d go home, get about four hours of sleep, and do it all over again.

Beyond her looks, Heather was an intelligent woman. She had definite opinions and sometimes our discussions would get heated. I once took the I.Q. test and clocked in it at 170, for whatever that is worth; for being so intelligent I’ve done some awfully stupid things. We’d be engaged in some verbal sparring and she would match me point for point…and when she couldn’t match me, she would use her feminine logic- which all men know is unassailable. It wouldn’t matter whether she was right or wrong- that’s the way it was, and there was nothing you could say to convince her otherwise.

I’m not sure what it was that made me attractive to Heather. My physique was lean, but I wasn’t going to be winning any body building contests. My intelligence may have been a factor, but ultimately I think she was attracted to me because I was wild- beyond anyone she had met in her somewhat staid circle of acquaintances. That wildness was an adventure and a challenge all at the same time. Ultimately, though, that wildness was the thing that drove her away from me.

I have always prescribed to the Ken Doll Theory. Little girls like to play with Ken doll because they get to dress him up exactly like they want him, control his movements, and basically guide every facet of his fictional life. When little girls become women, they want a life size Ken doll to dress, control, and basically guide every facet of his non-fictional life.

All the signs were there, I was Heather’s life-size Ken. I was too blind to see the telltale neon billboards, or maybe I was just too in love to care. She was attracted to the challenge of molding the unmoldable. She was attracted to the spark of craziness I possessed, yet at the same time she wanted to suppress and bury it deep beneath the clay as she recast me in the form of her father- an idealized Michaelangelo’s David of manhood that no real man, including him, could live up to.

Or maybe, I’m just bitter.

Pre-Heather, my Mustang had been a literal babe magnet. I and a friend would cruise the Lynnwood thoroughfares in that venerable national past time. Some women seemed attracted to men’s vehicles in the same sort of way that men are attracted by women’s bodies. I was fully willing to take advantage of this shallowness.

Now, dating Heather, she enjoyed being chauffered from school by a slightly older man with nice wheels. It impressed the other senior girls to have such stylish transportation at her seeming beck and call. Usually, I tried to keep my distance from the school. It had only been two years since I’d graduated and my memories of the educational institution weren’t very fond.

However, one day I found myself parking the Mustang and wandering down the mostly empty halls toward Heather’s locker, where I figured I’d find her. As I approached the three-way intersection to the bank of lockers where she kept her books, I heard a nasal voice, speaking in strident tones.

"So, you put out for your boyfriend, yet? Did he give it to you?"