Bitches

"She's a bitch. Get over her."

I'm attracted to women with strong personalities. Assertive is the one end of the range, nasty is the other end. That's a possible explanation of why I kept going back to D in my head long after she was gone.

When I was a young man, say around 20, I had group of friends, and that circle intersected a circle of female friends. Tamara C. from that group was the girl I was giving a ride to on Christmas 1984 whose request to stop at a Klein's Food Mart so that she could get some cigarettes led to my first car being torched. She had a friend whose name was Eilidh T., and Miss T was a complete and utter embodiment of the word nasty... or perhaps cruel is an even better word.

When I ran into Eilidh ten years ago, whilst I was DJing, she wasted no time in demonstrating that her acerbic touch was in place. Not a sentence left her mouth that didn't skewer someone's soul or self-esteem. Oddly, I was attracted even as I was mortified. After a few more run-ins, I found myself in the stairwell after work, feeling her up. I was cupping her breasts through her sweater when the inevitable moral self-admonishment of an unhappily married but unfortunately moral man hit me, and I ran. She didn't take my disappearance well, as one might assume.

A few months later I saw her in the restaurant she was working in, and when she saw me her head snapped my direction twice in a perfect double-take. It was amazing she didn't drop what she was carrying. I couldn't help but laugh aloud, heartily, emphasis on the loud. It wasn't that I had any ill will towards her, although she had that for me, but the perfect sitcom-like head movement was impossible to not to react that way to. It could only have been funnier if coffee were spraying out of her mouth in the process.

I guess the point is that somehow I can find myself attracted to good women, and the worst. It's up to me to police myself to ensure I don't end up with the latter.