An Inexplicable Attraction to Women Who Inevitably Turn Out to be Bitches

     We share a remarkable consistency of routine, and this pleases me. On Friday I noticed her immediately. She wore a brown plaid jacket that tucks at the waist, flares at the hips and falls to mid-thigh over jeans. She walks very quickly. I can't explain to you how compelling it is to me when a woman walks quickly. It represents direction, ambition, and disdain. She wears the slightly irritated expression of one who is confident of meeting no-one tolerable in the near future. I was coming up Ferst; she from the Biotech plaza. We fell into line as she crossed the street and I made the turn onto Atlantic. I had to speed up to stay near her. Her hair is a light brown, long and wavy. She disrespected a hedgerow and a steep slope to walk across the lawn of the Civil Engineering building, and I lost sight of her.

     The aforementioned consistency was seen this morning, when at exactly the same time we came from the same directions and fell into line at the same distance as previously. Again I followed at a distance and again she walked at a breathtaking speed through the hedges, up the hill and out of sight. She resembles Marie more than a little, and I have to ask myself, as I often do, whether it is nostalgia or merely preference. A pointless exercise.

     It brings to mind distinctly my last adventure with an angry-looking woman with whom I shared a schedule; this one every day for a month, for several hours. Even the mildest advance was treated with the scorn I could see in every bit of body language. I shouldn't have expected otherwise. She lives down the hall now, and despite being in the same club and attending the same discussion groups, outings, parties, and even casual evening card games, relations have not improved. We ignore each other with a fierce deliberation.

     For this reason, and because I am introspective in the extreme, I find it highly unlikely that I will ever speak to this person. But there is always hope.