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“Our vices always lie in the direction of our virtues.” — Thoreau, A Week, p. 268
It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon and Lo and I were about to go for a brisk walk through the neighborhood when, as we exited the front door, we found a package addressed to Lo.
“Were you expecting a special delivery?” I asked.
“Not that I recall,” she said.
She picked up the brown box and we brought it inside, unwrapped it, and we found two beautiful paintings of Lo somehow done on thick panes of glass. One was of her puss.
On seeing the striking resemblance up close, Lo remarked, “The illustration really captures my essence.”
By now, it’s no secret that Lo has a lot of admirers, both in person and virtually. Her fans love to send her gifts and those gifts range from the common, run-of-the-mill dick pic to beautiful original paintings and artworks that arrive by mail at our doorstep. I have no issues with any of her accolades. I am more than satisfied to bask in the glory of her brilliance, like the moon illuminated by the sun. I will also admit that many of those admirers pay at least lip service to the writing. And, given that Lo’s lip service is something I get on a regular basis, I have no reason to complain. But it is nice, every once in a while, when an enthusiastic and attractive woman…