HOW NOT TO SLEEP WITH A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN | 2001-08-25
I spent one of the worst nights of my life sleeping with a beautiful woman.
Get your tongue back in your head. These days it never occurs to anybody that "sleeping with a woman" can mean exactly that.
She was not only beautiful, she was rich. Her family's house was next door to the lieutenant governor's (this was not in South Carolina, and it was long ago).
The obvious question is what somebody rich and beautiful was doing with me. So let me tell you this: I am a wise man who comments in learned style on world issues. That same wisdom prevents me from ever trying to figure out why women do things. That way lies madness.
Anyway, she was showing off the new, luxury car her father had given her that particular year -- I think he did it every year. We left my cheap but reliable little Volkswagen and she drove me around in her brand new luxmobile.
She drove out into an area where there were only dirt roads (HINT, HINT, BOB!). I was doing what I have spent almost all my time with women doing: Trying to figure out what to do next.
So naturally the luxmobile broke down. Naturally we had no idea where we were. Naturally it was a bitter cold night and the heater went out with the engine.
We spent a night at around thirty degrees with no coats, etc. She was in my arms, sleeping warmly. She looked so comfy there that I, frozen solid, wanted to strangle her.