Muse In A Can
Or something like that...
Part: One | Two | Three | Four
I thought maybe Internet dating was the answer; fill out a personal ad or two, maybe he’d get lucky. But despite two remakes of Shop Around The Corner, he didn’t believe two people who hadn’t met could really be that much in love. Heck, I even toyed with the idea of appearing to him and just trying to get him to fall in love with me if it got him going. Men fall in love with their muses, I’m sure. Pygmalion fell in love with his own creation, why couldn’t Paul fall in love with me? Oh wait, I’m bitter, invisible, much shorter, and nothing like his painted picture of the ideal woman.
I wish he’d get over that stupid image. If you looked into his brain, would you believe it actually is an impressionist painting? It’s this woman with a parasol of all things, standing in a stream of sunlight just looking off into the sunset like all good women with parasols. What sort of woman carries a parasol in this day and age? What sort of woman knows what a parasol is in this day and age? You’re lucky to see them with umbrellas half the time it’s more fashionable to wear a raincoat.
So here I am, sitting on his shoulder waiting for a woman with a parasol, because an umbrella just won’t do. He still writes his love poetry, but only if I pander to his idea of this love at first sight soul mate. Let me tell you how sick I am of giving him that fantasy, that she’s strolling t he park, happy as can be, enjoying a sunny day. He’s not going to meet a woman with anything resembling a parasol unless it’s raining.
But he doesn’t listen to me. Nobody listens to me, not even the Council. They don’t believe I’m going to get anything worthwhile out of this guy. I think they’re laughing behind my back. On good days I decide that I’ll show them who they’re laughing at. On bad days I know exactly why they’re laughing. This boy doesn’t need a muse, he needs Cupid, and I suck at archery.
Part: One | Two | Three | Four
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