Received an invitation, on a dating site, from a woman in Austin Texas (1775 miles from Seattle) that contained this entreaty:

‘But I am in lust with you, and would find you quite a good person for that tawdry business until I am ready to settle down again and make some poor guy miserable (but also somehow manage to tie him to me for life; I’m good at that) for however many years.’

I responded:

‘A wrestling match might be fun if it were not for those 1775 ’things’ between us.

I’ve got family all over the state of Texas (are there people who don’t?). I always quake whenever I hear the name Republic of Texas in the news. Fear I’m going to see one my cousins in the photo/video. Have trouble telling apart those several we call Buster or Bubba. Love Waco. San Antonio is on my list of most beautiful cites. (I have been in the state of Texas only once since … umm … 1971. Prior to that we visited often.) My Aunt Queenie (lavender bouffant), married to Uncle Tiny (6’ 2" 140 lbs.), were as bigoty as bigoty can be and are no longer with us. Thankfully. Last time I saw them in Dallas we had to drive out to Waxahachie for dinner at a chain steak house (I’m forgetting whether we passed 3 or 4 locations of the same chain on that drive). My latino friend, who was riding shotgun while Tiny drove, SWORE Tiny was trying to kill him with his lane changes (probably was, I was pinned in the back seat with Queenie and two other bouffants incapacitated by the thickness of the eau d’toilette). It took several cigarettes and a quick pipe load, out by the dumpsters in back, to convince him to get back in the car for the trip home. Alas, I couldn’t convince him to change places with me. Have a hard time explaining my great affection for baby blue, rhinestoned cat-eye glasses to my Northern friends (Mom loved them).

In summary, I have an irrational, morbid fear of crossing the border into Texas. I’m afraid I’d pass into some sort of fugue state being unable to differentiate between terror and affection thereby compromising my ability to flee which my parents (graduates of Baylor and Hardin-Simmons) managed to accomplish in 1955. I feel I should honor that passage. Otherwise I would ask you out for coffee.

Is that a graceful decline?

Many much love & thanks for the compliment,

Lorn’

So, was that a graceful decline??