The Cautious Cad

I’m what one might refer to as a player.  Women can’t help lovin’ me and I can’t help, bein’ me.  At one time, I felt terrible about the trail of broken hearts strewn across the globe, but came to understand what I was doing was helpful.  I was teaching women to better understand themselves and not having the very best man in the world, doesn’t make them any less a woman. To the untrained eye, it might seem I am a self centered lout, but my life is a complicated one.  

 

My international loves, necessitate less daily maintenance of course.  Canada, England, Germany, Australia, I am indeed a goodwill ambassador of worldwide proportion.  My passport resembles a playbill from broadway ten years past. I refer to these potential fem fatales from the north, across the pond and further, as my side chicks.  Not of a lesser station in the game of romance, but simply ones impacted by physical boundaries. I encourage these ladies to move on, should they find a better man, that could make them happier.  But really, who are we kidding?

 

I mentioned complications, well there are plenty.  I meet with a group of people, oh we’ll call it a writing group, once a week and several women attend and therein lies a problem.  One of the women, whom we’ll call Caryn with a C is mad about me and has made it no secret. Another woman who’s real name is Katherine, I was going to call Kate, but then a real Kate showed up.  Still another woman, whom I’ll call Shirley, calls herself Shona, but everyone knows her as Moonbeam, is in the mix. Catfight is a word Caryn with a C threatens often. The pretty young thing who’s real name is Kate is a Staff Sgt. in the military and it was all I could do to talk her down, when she threatened to throat punch every single woman at the meeting, over me.  Her mother, also an attendee, is no help as she would love to call me son. As noted, my life is complex.

 

I have even thought, perhaps there was something I could do to lessen the impact of my animal magnetism.  I sought the input of Dr. Lauria, a household name in the world of psychiatry, because I really wanted to know if even a small degree of culpability, laid at my doorstep.  Dr. Lauria asked me to leave after I identified the eleventh straight Rorschach inkblot, as a vagina. I took this to mean, no evidence could be found that I contributed to the problem.  I admit to be confounded why he would show me all those pictures. Me thinks, the Doctor may have issues.

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