Famous Boyfriend #2

Oh goodness, now I'm resorting to numbering them off, as if they were notched on my bedroom door; a way of documenting a good month's work for a hunter and fisherman of sorts.-- Surely I could find a catchy title for Wes, the barrel-chested spinto whom I dated for a mere three weeks.--"Stumpy Little Fellow". Yeah, that should do.



Just say that phrase in your head, "Stumpy Little Fellow", and you'll know what it's like to be a Spinto tenor, ugly and jagged.--Wes could not sing a legato line to save his soul. Not even in the midst of a blossoming romance.



Wump. Wump. Humph. Humph. That was the way he walked. At 5 feet 3, no wonder. Dicker. Dicker. Humph. Humph. Always variations. But no legato line; not to save his soles.--He'd wear his shoes out before he'd even try them on; just by looking at them with his squinty Spinto Eyes.


But never mind his walk; or his brassy snarling voice.-- What really took the cake was concept of relationships. After our first date, he popped right down on the bed-ping. The bouncy Spinto proceeded to remove his clothing.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, it's time to shift gears."

"This is not how it's done."

"Oh, really. Well I've had no practice."

"Apparently."

Even our conversations were jagged and jumpy. Staccato style. A Spintogato line.

--No fun for Greg, the seamless lyric--.