Cute, Regulations

One of the primary stresses of modern life is that the period during which one is expected to be cute is constantly being extended. It used to be that women were expected to be cute until the age of 25 and men until the age of 9. Now men are required to be cute until the age of 45. (Unless you are a homosexual. Homosexuals are expected to be cute until age 68.) My grandfather was cute until the age of 95, at least in his green suit. At 96 he was not so cute anymore. Women are now expected to be cute until death. Actually even after death they are expected to be cute, but then it is no longer their responsibility but rather the mortician's.

Threat.

Obviously the advertising people don't write with me in mind. It seems entirely horrible, this Pepperidge Farm truck I see on the highway now, Never have an ordinary day.

The Fear of Lunch

Without warning, Randy Mesmer sprouted an entirely new fear: a phobia of confident Europeans, particularly those with confident voices and thick curly hair. This terror developed to such a degree that Randy longed to take these Europeans aside and pour out his heart to them --

"Listen, I am so incredibly sorry to show up like this. I feel ashamed and I would like to apologize from the bottom of my heart. Trust me, I would have shown up as somebody else if I could have. It's not that I have no money for clothes -- it's that I have no judgment. Oh, what I would give to have been born beautiful! If it were up to me I'd be ravishingly beautiful, so beautiful I'd never have to explain anything, so beautiful that everywhere I went I would be embraced vigorously by the benefit of the doubt. Sadly this isn't the case. It's genetic. Actually my mother and father were reasonably attractive, but the way they're jumbled up in me -- it's not pretty. Anyway I would like for you to keep this all in mind and not judge me too harshly for having the gall, the nerve, the presumption to appear at your restaurant and ask for lunch.

"How about this? I'll just have the special and a glass of red wine and -- you just go ahead and throw the tablecloth over me. It's not a problem. Actually I myself would be more comfortable. Even if it is a little hot. It'd be like making a fort as a child --

"I won't speak. Actually, it would be a tremendous relief to me to not have to speak. Isn't that the reason one orders the special -- so as to not to have to talk?

"Tell me honestly -- are you concerned about the tablecloth? About the possible stain which I might inflict upon it? Because I do not need to drink red wine. Or have pasta with tomato sauce. In fact I do not need to eat at all. Wouldn't that simply matters! How about this? I will sit here in the corner and you just throw the table cloth over me. I would appreciate that very much. I will be entirely careful. And I will be perfectly quiet.

"I appreciate this all very much and I am grateful to you, sir, with your curly hair and your booming voice and your air of owning the world. Please go ahead. Throw the tablecloth over me. Because it is worth 15 dollars to me, just to disappear for lunch."