Kevin made a startling discovery this morning at the orthodontists office, while perfect strangers probed and prodded his gums. As the doctors adjusted his braces, my brother listened absently to the nearby, offering an occasional grunt to the nurse’s questions. I sat outside in the waiting room reading, my mouth comfortably free of fingers and metal implements.
“Did you hear the radio, Murph, while you were waitin’?” he asked me afterwards.
“Only the ‘Tiny Dancer’ song,” I answered. The local oldies stations maintained a robust playlist of about ten or twenty songs comprising solely of half-a-dozen Elton John singles, a few scattered Guns N’ Roses covers, and Don McLean’s ‘American Pie,’ repeated usually once an hour.
“No, the guys on the radio did this survey about women,” Kevin said. “Most girls in the nation say that they’re attracted to geeks: guys who’re smart, read a lot and enjoy a healthy appetite. That’s you!”
My God, when did this all happen? Like an episode of the Twilight Zone. A wormhole has opened in space-time, a dimension of polar opposites: up is down; left is right; honey has become bitter and kids suck on coffee-flavored lollipops.
The precedent? Ivanka Trump’s wedding, my sister Katie asserts. The young beautiful tycoon has reported in interviews to be attracted to smart geeky guys.
“Perhaps,” Kate shrugs, ” that’s the new trend. Girls are tired of mindless, good-looking, athletic heart-throbs, who enjoy throwing money at everything. Better jump on the bandwagon Murph before the women of the world come to their senses.”
“How long will that take?” I ask.
“Um,” Katie mused. “What time is it?”
Crap, it figures that the tables would turn when I dedicated the next forty days and nights to exercise. Don’t worry girls, I rarely succeed at extended physical exertion and usually abandon the treadmill for game or graphic novel. Or my Lego pirate ship. If that turns you on and you’re eager for romance, shoot my paladin, Runae, a letter the next time you visit Azeroth. I’ll be waiting . . .