BURNING HEARTS – A MISSED CONNECTION LOVE STORY
Hi there. You probably don’t remember me, but I love you.
From the moment I first laid eyes on you I knew you would be one of my wives one day. I think you and I should meet up and get married. If you’re not quite ready for marriage we could start things off real slow and just have a simple, informal, civil union of some sort. Either way, let’s stop being strangers. St. Valentine’s arrow is upon us yet again and I’m more alone than ever, for all I know it could be St. Patrick’s Day in Australia already because I’ve never understood how the calendars work there; our lives are not getting any longer and we are not getting any younger, I say it’s about time we do this as we’re clearly made for each other. You’re my best prospect, at least. I want to get my Mom off my back about this every family dinner.
Guessed who it is yet? Duh! It’s that guy who pulled you out of your house fire last weekend!
I was wearing faded yellow trousers, a matching jacket, boots, suspenders, and a cool helmet made to withstand falling objects and extreme heat. You were wearing a maroon sweater and an expression that read, “I’ve passed due to heat stroke and perhaps exhaustion.”
A bit about me! I’m a volunteer firefighter and trainee pharmaceutical salesman and a very honest person. My life is basically heart burn or burning hearths! There’s so much pain in this world, whether it be figurative, literately, or acidic. You may as well cope with it with someone you care about. I’ll be honest, I originally got into volunteer firefighting with the hopes of appearing in a calendar one day. I always forget the day of the week and I figured, hey, I get a free copy of the calendar I appear in. My birthday’s in June, hopefully they’d put my photo in for that month, whilst flipping through the calendar people (hopefully girls) would think “Hmm, these first five guys aren’t exactly up to par. Oh, this guy meets my standards! Ah, the next six guys just flail in comparison to that June guy.”
I’m a hopeless romantic, I’ll admit it. I go to the dentist at least twice a year with the intention of getting a date. Not a date AT the dentist’s office, no, that’s not what I meant! Well, not necessarily. I mean, it is sort of hard not to feel like you’re being led on a little when all this woman does is ask you how you’re doing and puts her fingers in your mouth. But I would forgo dates with a million hot dentists if I could just marry you once. Also, I chew vitamins and scrapbook.
I’ve seen “The Notebook”, the greatest love story ever made, one and a half times. I had to rewind the video cassette and re-watch the first half of the movie because I was distracted by the fact the main characters all spoke with Southern accents, to the point where I missed a few key lines of dialogue. What a weird accent! It makes sense that people with Southern accents only go for people with other Southern accents. I definitely could not be with a girl who speaks all weird like that. I would never understand a word she was saying. The day we got married and it was her turn to say “I do”, I wouldn’t know if she was actually saying “I do” or the word “Adieu”, French for “See ya”. It’d be a very confusing and stressful ordeal. Thank goodness that was just an example I made up and not a real problem, how horrifying. I heard this story about a woman who had throat surgery and woke up with a British accent.
For our first date, I was thinking something simple. I’d suggest apple picking, but most orchards have closed due to the continuing global financial crisis, and I’ve seen you on a ladder, you’re pretty bad at both ascending and descending. Maybe we could read a newspaper together? I’ll let you pick dates one to three, assuming they do not fall on days that conflict with “Dancing with the Stars”. Date four is alphabetizing my recipe books. I will pick dates five to eleven. And our twelfth date will be our wedding.
To be rather honest I was a bit dismayed by how rude you were to me that time I dragged you out from that fire. I saved your life and you completely blew me off ... being an octogenarian with a lazy eye is no excuse, I still feel you should have treated me better, you didn’t even say thank you so much as wheeze all over me, and now you owe me one. One marriage. And to be even more rather honest I was really hoping your house would’ve burned down all the way. It certainly would’ve taught you a lesson for chain smoking in a house filled with that much airborne Lysol. I tried explaining this to you but you just gaped at me stupidly like a child who’d been kicked in the head by a horse. Don’t laugh, it happened to this kid I knew once and for a solid year he couldn’t see in color. I’m very sorry the insurance covered your house and all your stuff, you’d have been welcome to stay at my place in the meantime, by which time I mean the rest of our lives. I stole some of your Russian stacking dolls on my way out of searching the place, you’ll get them back after we get married. If I feel like it.
Maybe one day we’ll end up together against all odds like the boy and the girl in “The Notebook”. That movie had a pretty happy ending right? Minus the fact they both die in the end and Ryan Gosling’s character grows manboobs. Isn’t it weird that Ryan Gosling looks like how he looks like now but the older version of him has a body like a garbage bag full of wet clothes? I wonder if he made a deal with a genie or something like that. Do you think it would be worth it to have Ryan Gosling’s body as it is now if you were going to look like that in 50 years? I probably would. I would think it’d be worth it. Beauty is only skin deep anyway, and by the way in 50 years when I’m that old there will be no fat people anyway because liposuction will be mandatory by the government once people start using cars that run on ex-fat people’s fat converted into fossil fuels, an invention I’m working on now.
Did you read this? I’m seriously thinking of starting another fire just to get your attention.