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.