Jala Pfaff _______________________________ artist, writer, linguist

"Hi Georgette...whatcha doing?" I asked and braced myself for the reply.

"Oh, nothing."

"Nothing?!  As in, really, nothing?  You're not in a porta-potty or, competing for the world's record of people stuffed into a Volkswagen or, oh, I don't know, touring the Hindenburg museum, or something?"

"There's a Hindenburg museum?"

I sighed.  "I don't know, Georgette.  So anyway...whatcha do--No!  I already asked you that!"

She giggled.  "You're so funny, Ave.  What are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing either...I just...I miss you, Georgette.  Can't you come back to Boulder?"

"I'm not Alan, you know."

Ouch.

"I won't just reappear in Boulder because you wish hard enough...but I do miss you, too, Ave.  Lots."

I sighed again.  "So...why don't you come back?"

"Because...Trudy is here.  And she needs me.  Even more than you do.  Besides, I love her."

I drew in my breath to sigh again, but managed to restrain myself for a change.  Maybe it was time for a different tactic.  "But Georgeeeeette..." I began.  "Don't you ever miss...you know...sex?"

Georgette burst out laughing.  "Ave!  I am having sex!  A lot more than I was having in Boulder, as you well know!  Damn, talk about a 'dry town'!"

"Ha ha.  I mean, you know, sex with a guy--the grunting, heaving, sweating, stinky-armpit kind."

There was a long pause.  Finally, Georgette spoke: "Yuck.  Do you miss that, Ave?"

Now I sighed.  If only.