Lou Milner - Getting to Know All About You

Getting to Know

All About You

as told to the author by some woman

who wanted equal time based on

the "confession" by the

woman-mad madman from Chapter 8.

by Lou Milner

"Enough about me. What about you?" he said, like he really cared. I mean, I thought he really cared. So I started telling him.

I was born in the south, and he thought I mean The South, so he interrupted to give me some cherished recipe for Cajun chicken, which, although it was tasty, was a tad too much on the poultry side for my liking. But that's beside the point. I wanted to tell him that I was brought up in the south part of Fender Street and because of that I walked with a slight dent. But it didn't seem to bother him. I thought that was a good sign because all my life I'd been a little self-conscious about my depression. But all he said was, "Hey, nobody's perfect. Look at this," and he showed me some deceased person's pocket watch, which still ran precisely 16 minutes slow after all these years. I asked if it was so precise, why he didn't just move the minute hand ahead 16 minutes so that it would tell the correct time, and he got all upset and said he could not abide perfectionists and if that's what I was I could just say goodbye right now. Even though I'm not a perfectionist, I am a plagiarist, I said goodbye anyway. People are crazy, huh?

But hey, if I hadn't said goodbye, I wouldn't have been in front of the howitzer store, reading the help-wanted sign in the window. And if I hadn't noticed a typo on the sign--they spelled cannon with one n instead of two--I wouldn't have gone inside to report the blunder, and then I wouldn't have met Sheena the tiger, who needed to be walked every day for two hours. Now, here's where the story gets interesting.

You know how women are drawn to men with dogs and babies? Well, and this will surprise you, guess what! Men and dogs love women with tigers. I'm not kidding. You can't believe how many fights I tried to break up. No one had ever fought over me before. It was a totally new experience. And truthfully, kind of exhausting and invigorating at the same time. Like when the fur had settled and we all laid panting on the ground, I felt like a kid again, just looking up at the sky, watching the clouds, wondering if some grown-up would happen by with iodine and bandages. And that is how I met Barney the paramedic.

Talk about being in the right place at the right time and having the God-given sense to know it. Now, unlike some women, I can't say driving around with the siren on is any big zoom, but there is definitely room in my life for a stretcher--know I'm sayin'? Mmm-mm. And my Barney is a truly amazing human being. He was born to "do unto others." I have learned so much from him. Do you want to hear about the sex? All right, just let me say this: Husqvarna.Vrmm-vrmm.

And it was Barney who pointed out to me that I have an unusual affinity for fallacy and other four-letter words beginning with f. Said he noticed it every time I talked about figs and fans and flys. Said a woman with my talent should do something with it. Just hearing him say it motivated me to become a poet. And that is how I came to pose as an American and become a Pulitzer-prize winning versifier. Here is the limerick that set me on my way. I call it Ode de Barney.

There once was a savior named Barney

Who rescued a woman from carny

Her limbs were all bloody

But he knew his study

And managed to bandage her army.

When next they did meet

She fell at his feet
And massaged his toes.
The last verse doesn’t quite work, but once you've been recognized as a great poet, you are given all kinds of license. It's amazing. So anyway, I just wanted to say that the author of this little manual really knows her stuff. Like if I hadn't been ready, and if I hadn't already liked myself and been open to new experiences, I would have had a completely different story to tell, and it might not have been as happy or as inspirational as this one.

The author would just like to report that no animals were harmed in the telling

of this sorry tale.