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Volume 1 #5 August 2, 1999
This week, I will tackle this whole "relationship" trip... or is it trap? Seems as though, everything that inhales and exhales has got to bag 'em one or more. I must preface this with a reminder of the devastating "Great Plague". We all should be very seriously schooled in the dangers of it and the precautions to take. AND that we have the right to abstain! It seems, no matter where a person goes, there are three types. First, those who are in the committed lane. The ones with the "I don't have to worry about my over hanging gut or my out-of-date Seattle Grunge look". They're the ones wearing shorts that expose (or is it explode?) so much flab that it could upgrade a Third World Country to a Major World Power. Warning! One of you might try to reclaim your dignity and go on a health and fashion binge. The next group are the "I am so desperate to get into one of these snares", they, to my ever observing but not overly intrusive eyes, are always on some stool. In a bar... restaurant... library... wherever. Sitting alone. They are running the "Oh, I'm here to just to get away from it all. I'm not on the look out for some stray from the pack to pounce on" cover up. Ha! You can smell 'em from Jupiter and beyond. They're too uptight to let those walls down and talk to the body on the "skip one stool down" (they never can bring themselves to sit next to each other). Sorry, but this non approach is not going to get them what they're looking for. Try THE TRUTH! "I'm here to find that elusive relationship thing and so are you. How's 'bout it?" Not the smoothest come on. But you never know. The triad in this configuration of errors: the "I can have it but I really don't give a ping-pong for the commitment cage, just yet". When one of them blows in. Suddenly, all species come alive. They circle like vultures on very lucrative carrion. It's like a shark feeding frenzy. Jaws to the left... Jaws to the right. "Jaws of Life! Get me outta here!" So, the moral of this tale is: most all of us especially, when threatened with some sort of freak-out 'til you 'fess up to the truth torture, are doomed to the "I want what he/she has... but I don't want to put forth any effort to get it... I just want to be there in some way, shape or form. Go figure. My advice: Move down one stool.

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©1999 Carol Ann Carson
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