Still spellbound, Ted opted for ding dong ditch to get Lola out of the house to talk to him after his inhuman betrayal. He didn’t notice her coloring on the front porch next to her dachshund, weasel, and something that looked like a Yuzz a Ma Tuzz.
Ted quickly crouched in the ash next to her garbage can like a vagabond. When she didn’t open the door, he tried to woo her out with a poignant song he played on a dulcimer, the lyrics from marginalia he’d scribbled on a seafood menu.
Lola snuck up on him. “Sweet Odin’s platinum coated titanium nipple rings! If it isn’t Ted the haughty Optometrist!”
“I didn’t hear you brexit. I mean exit . . . the house,” Ted mumbled over the psithurism. “Sorry I’ m a little dyslexic today.”
“Are you stoned?” Lola laughed and flipped her hair with swagger.
Ted ousted himself from between the cans. “Preposterous! I just finished a day of surgery and eye tests.”
“Then what’s with the asinine, indiscriminate, confounded visit to my garbage cans?” Lola huffed.
“I love you!” he exclaimed.
“I’ve lost motivation, Ted. You’re just like all the other pilgarlic liars.”
“I’m a good catch, Lola. I’ve ensured superannuation for the last ten years and my job gives me global entry when I leave the country.”
Lola put her hands on her hips. “What the argle-bargle are you talking about?”
“I’ll do anything! We can go to a theme park, or play Bingo, or . . .”
Lola smiled wickedly. “Fine. Let’s go cause a riot with some frotteurism.”