Thought I’d let you know that I did go ahead and meet the guy I asked you about. That’s what you advised, right? I wasn’t sure, having to wade through all that angst you wrote. Man you need to get out more! You’re bored by iterations of pretty young women? Maybe it’s time to find just one and get your mind around her in the flesh.
And, Milan Kundera?! What that man doesn’t know about eastern European women, eh? Well sorry Leonard, but he knows sweet fuck all, having myself come from a long line of them. But hey. The times I’ve poised myself seductively wearing little more than my bowler hat in front of my mirror are too numerous to count.
Whether I was being conspicuously indifferent is up for debate.
Anyway, that guy I met? Crashed & burned, Leonard. Crashed & burned. Good news though, there’s a new man on the scene already! (you recall? … "if he doesn’t give it to you someone else will") A delicious Yohann Gene lookalike. Fantastique!
The weekend will be spent lying around goddess-like on my bed (him, not me) smoking Gitanes, drinking Pastis and reading Anais Nin. Do you know Anais? Perhaps I could introduce you... although she is on Facebook, sadly, being duck face funny with her mates.
With thanks & awe,
Ms Town Bike
Dear Ms Town Bike,
Welcome back. Although this letter has a distinct lack of mountain biking flavour, and thus probably takes me outside my mandate, this is an important topic and I’m feeling charitable today.
First of all let’s not be too unkind to poor old Milan. He may have been a misogynist, an egoist, and an asshole. His observations could well have flowed forth from some sort of jaded sense of rejection. But he was just a scribbler. And hot damn if he didn’t hit the mark a couple of times.
I’m no stranger to [South]eastern European women, TB. I know all about Tata and srpska glava and not leaving the house until you’re fully made up. But the Serb I dated for some four years was progressive – dispensed with the patriarchy and the expectations. Whether that was fortunate or unfortunate, I’ll leave up to you.
My point is that the pretty young woman – as an asymptote, as the ultimate goal beyond all goals – isn’t for me. My flesh burns like any man, and the metronomic swing of a well formed bitty will grab my eyes, but when the dust clears I need something more than just good looks to chew on. I ain’t no expert, but I’ve laid with enough to know. I’m willing to leave that particular quest to the province of rock stars – for their endless pursuit of higher ground. Because that never backfires on them, right?
I’ve read Nin. Man, what a babe. What I wouldn’t give to have been a fly on the wall to witness Steinbeck giving her the good news. Granted she’s not in my camp, but she was trying to thumb together some money during war time, so we can forgive her for being an apologist.
I ain’t angsty, baby. I’m just trying to advance the case for the everyday peach. On that note, how about Maya Angelou? Another fallen hero. May she rest in peace.
I’m sorry to hear that your previous encounter fell flat. Perhaps he didn’t deserve to taste the endless delights of your undeniable ladyness. I don’t know who Yohann Gene is (he sounds like a filthy roadie) but here’s to a second shot at the pie.
You come back if you need any tips.
Yours, languishing in angst -
If you need some life and/or love advice, have a burning relationship issue or just want to know about the birds and the bees, email Leonard then sit back and wait for the knowledge to set you free.