"Don't worry, we'll win Sears sometime..."
Chapter VIII: Shorthairedredhead.
I include this girl in her own category, not because she was important on her own, but for other things. One of these other things is how she looked. You see, the sexiest female there can be is short, short haired, redheaded, voluptuous and definitely not skinny. That is what led me to this girl. Up to a point, her and Miss Gillian had been the only two I'd seen that really matched my wish list/profile. That's one point to the matter. Another point is associated with her only in part. Hmn, when did this happen... it must have been at least a year ago. The Donut King and myself found fit to attend a strange bar where women decide it's prudent to take their clothes off and wiggle around on a raised platform. We didn't quite understand what was going on, but we stuck around anyway. Well, there I saw one marvelous specimen of femininity. And she resembled the Shorthairedredhead so astonishingly, I was simply knocked on my ass. Well, what happened after this was I wrote a story. I wrote my longest story ever after returning back home from that odd bar. Not in one sitting, mind you, but over 4 or 5. And I was very proud of it. I thought it was my best work, and now with some tweaking, it probably still would be. It was over 11 pages, so that's fairly long. It was about a conversation between a male and a female. One, basically, was me. The other, basically, was the memorable stripper. And this stripper just reminded me so much of the Shorthairedredhead that I had to give her SHRH's name. So I wrote this huge story, and brought it to school where a number of people read it or had it read to them. Eventually, the Psycho brought it around to Shorthairedredhead. Hmn. I did not know what to think of such a thing. Maybe the Psycho was showing some humanity, and actually wanted to help me out... or just wanted to see me get screwed again. Impossible to tell. But, SHRH read it and read it, and kept having to stop and then kept running right back to it to try to finish. It seemed that she was engrossed in it, like other people. There was no possible way of missing the connection between her and the semi-fictional stripper, however. But she didn't seem to take it badly and immediately be freaked out. So, my Racist-Bearded friend, Big Blue, gave me an idea of something to do. Go down to Canadian Tire, bring some quarters and buy rings out of the gumball things. Then, ask her to marry you. How could any girl resist that? he says. Well I'll tell you how. She shakes her head like she has water in her ears and breaks into a near sprint when she has to go by your locker. That's how. Heh, but it was amusing. I decided I'd have fun with this. With her irrational fear of my questionable sanity, that is. Because really, things weren't going TOO badly when I decided I should maybe listen to an idiot other than myself. And I don't blame Racist-Bearded, it was a really good idea for SOMEONE WITH A SENSE OF HUMOR. But she just didn't have one, I guess. I should mention too that it was around the time of the Sears Festival, and as of yet there had been no decision of what play to do and send. I thought my story would make a good play. It would have been easily scripted into one, it was only a two room, four character story. So I started making hints that this scared-of- me girl should be in my play with me. Heh. Seriously, I would have liked to do my story, but my school had such a glaring absence of any acting talent it was either her or no one. So she didn't like the idea (duh) and we did another play. But I did not let the ring business die. Every time she would walk by, I would give her a maniacal glance and pat the coat pocket where I kept the ring. And sometimes I'd see her at the mall, because she worked there, and do the same thing. She was so freaked out, and when my jolly friend Goo pointed out "She's so freaked, and I'm just like, ‘why?' because *I* know that my Johnny is the most harmless dude a-round!" I just roared with laughter until it hurt and had to agree. So I guess that's my tale of the Shorthairedredhead. Not the best of my stories, I know, but it's something anyhow. My favourite moment? Well, that might possibly be one I wasn't there for. The year before my ‘psychosis' took place, we were in a show together, for Sears. There were multiple scene changes that she didn't really want to change clothes for in-between, so she wore all the clothed on top of each other. And I wish I was here for what she said one time, when trying to fit on one last button up shirt:
"My tits are too damn big!"
So yes, here the story ends. No red snapper for me. It shall forever remain a dream to me, however...
Onto Chapter IX: Turmoil.
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