I’m an old-fashioned kind of girl who appreciates men who aim to please, whether it’s in their job description or not.
My five doormen of the Apocalypse brandish their maleness on their gray, gabardine sleeves in true Lancelot fashion. For me they’re a new breed of male who take pride in what they do.
My doormat isn’t even warm yet and they already know I’m a little dizzy. Sometimes I forget why I ventured downstairs. “Michael, why am I here….I’m drawing blanks.”
“The mail perhaps? A quick errand to the store? Panera?”
“Yes, I was on my way to Panera to get soup, can I bring you some?”
“No, we’re good, but thanks.”
They treat me as if I’m perfectly normal even when I eternally stand in the elevator forgetting to press the button.
Felix, who’s been there the longest…35 years…introduced me to a great guy. A boxer named Skip who’s a little long in the tooth bearing a striking resemblance to actor, Edward G. Robinson, I’m pretty sure is single.
Despite his age, I am very enamored, especially when he gets up close and licks my ears.
Felix said, he can tell he really likes me and maybe his owner will let me take him for a stroll, and of course he’ll put in a good word.
Men of all sizes speaking in tongues have entered my life.
Who ever would have thought.