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How To Train Your Man

by V. Carroll

It was one of those nights when everything came together perfectly: hair, makeup and a dress that looked sensational. At seven fifty-five I was all ready with five minutes to spare for my first date with Roy.  I sat down to wait and here is what happened…

            8:15.  Maybe he’s one of the habitually late people.  I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.

            8:30.  No Roy.  He must have had car trouble, or maybe he passed by the address.

            8:45.  Perhaps he got sick-or maybe he passed by the address

            8:45.  Perhaps he got sick-or maybe he’s been in an accident.  I’ll call him.  No answer.

            8:55.  I guess he figures it’s too late for dinner-the cheapskate.

            9:00.  When he gets here I’ll have a few choice things to say to him!

            9:15.  I should have figured him for a turkey.  He was too glib.

            9:28.  Let’s see.  He probably developed a blinding headache, made a wrong turn and ended on a dirt road where the car stalled, causing an accident that left him paralyzed with two broken hands-and Amnesia.

            At ten o’clock I put on my coat and opened the door, and who should be standing there, but Roy.

            “That’s what I call being ready,” he said, “I didn’t even ring the bell.”

            I said, “I believe you said dinner at eight?”

            “Yeah, well-you-know-I got hung up.”

            “I see,” I said smiling as we walked down the stairs.

            He said, “You look fantastic.”

            “Thank you,” I replied without looking at him.

            “Wait a minute,” he said pointing to the left, “my car’s this way.”

            “And mine is this way,” I said.

            “Have a good life.”

            When I later drove past him, he was standing in the middle of the street shouting my name.  He was never late again.

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