Even though their last cringe-worthy date had made Ted indignant and want to bitch-slap Lola, in the aftermath he developed a pathological need to see her saucy, sensual, Barbie-like figure and lovely, acidalia, angel face again.
Ted met her at her inchoate bungalow on the outskirts of a tranquil fen with nothing but nature, horticulture, and a fishery for miles. He pictured her living some salubrious, existential life of apanthropinization.
A jumentous cat stood frozen on Lola’s porch. Ted thought it was statue before he noticed a putrid malformation on its back. Then the cat began to stroll around him, demanding attention, and floundering without purpose.
Lola jumped out the front door in a turquoise dress and yelled, “abracadabra!” startling the cat into accidental acrobatics.
“Jesus Lola, you scared the flatulence outta me,” Ted cried. “What was that?”
“A love spell. Okay…really it’s a submission spell.” Lola began to cry. “I’m so verklempt that you agreed to see me after all my shenanigans. It’s really superfantabulous!”
“Thanks Lola,” Ted said hesitantly, “I made dinner reservations at the Amope Musketeer. You ready?”
“I’m not that hungry, Ted. I really just want some pickles.”
“Are you pregnant?” Ted joked.
“How could I be? I haven’t even given you assdick.”
“You know, when women rub their sphincters against you penis while spooning.”
“Okay. Awkward.” Ted turned red. “Why don’t we just start again with you telling me about yourself?”
“I’m a persnickety Gemini, and you remember I told you I sold haberdashery? Well, now I’m also tragematopolist and I sell superfluous, extraneous finnimbrum to those who have hireath for their Native countries.”
“I don’t understand your obtuse semantics, Lola. Our relationship is like a bad satire. I gotta go.” Ted again walked away from Lola in a vituperative manner.
“I will have the victory! You watch!” Lola yelled to Ted as he drove away.