6weeks - maybe a new novel/novella

Chapter I

     The first six weeks of a new relationship are without question the best time in a man's life. Sure, I suppose there are others... Winning in Vegas comes to mind. Hell, winning at anything comes to mind... But those first six weeks, when everything is new and nervous, when the sex is unbridled and complex, and when the exuberant telephone greeting or wide-eyed grin are unfettered...those are the six-week chunks of a man's life that we remember when the shit hits the fan. 

 

      Women would probably say the same, but they would be full of shit. They remember everything, all at once; a cacophony of vacillating extremes packed into emotional time capsules, digested in large gulps with spoonfuls of ice cream... Not that lowfat shit, either...the good stuff, and lots of it.

      I know, I know. What about the day your first child is born and, oh, what about your wedding day, and oh, what about your first time?

      I like kids... I mean, what's not to like? They don't owe me money and they like dinosaurs, a perfect combination if you ask me. They do smell funny, though...like some sort of anti-pheromone - shoe polish – onion ring medley, I can't quite place it.

      Wedding day? Please. The most equitable weddings I've attended were at City Hall. No crowd, no fanfare, just a stranger with a robe and a few minutes of beautiful synergy.

      The first time? How about I don't waste your time...

      Don't ever believe anyone who tells you not to worry; that things will get better. Don't get me wrong, I'm a positive guy, an optimist at heart. If I weren't, I'd have hurled myself off of the big, red bridge with the other fifty who did so just last year. Must be the ride of a life... I've never skydived, but I would imagine it's like skydiving without the fear. After all, you'd have to cram, and shove, and stomp fear into a brand-new, shiny, little, metal box in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind to consider jumping out of the known world, no matter how bad. It's sad really. I think those with that demented proclivity should simply find further depths of reality in the poor, forsaken lives of any third-world country... Surely a remedy if there was ever one.

      A few have lived to tell about it; the jump that is. One kid survived with a broken tailbone when he tried to impress his friends on a field trip. What the fuck is wrong with kids these days? When I was a kid, impressing your friends meant eating peanut butter with pickles (which, as it turns out, is delicious)... Now, it seems coming inches from death is the new black.