Monday, August 18, 2008

In this post I conclude the case notes I began yesterday regarding:

The Vexing Problem of the Beardy Albino

Yesterday left our heroine Rose in a compromising position with our hero Barry, the beardy albino virgin who bore no small resemblance to Santa Claus.

Before I describe what happened next I would like to remind readers of what I described as Barry's remarkably openness regarding his potentially off-putting personal defects. Recall also my friend Rose's remarkable lack of prejudice regarding the peculiarities of her suitors. Frank confessions on one side and unparalleled openness on the other - it was a happy coincidence, a canny combination that just might have worked.

But it didn't. Because there was one fatal flaw, a flaw that revealed itself as our two would-be lovers began to take their clothes off.

Upon attempting to unbutton Rose's shirt Barry drew his hand away and shuddered as if in pain.

"What's wrong?!" Rose said sharply. A woman does not want to feel that her physical assets are painfully received by her suitors. It is extremely unflattering.

Barry broke down. In a state of apologetic anguish he confessed that unbuttoning Rose's shirt made him feel unclean. (I need not point out that a woman does not want to feel that her physical assets are regarded by her suitors as "unclean".)

It was at that point that the ugly, despicable truth came out. This half-blind, beardy albino virgin was a recovering Christian. And he had lied about it.

Let us recollect that that the only requirement that Rose, our oh so open-minded Rose, had ever specified on her internet dating profile was that her date be not the slightest bit religiously-inclined. It was the only point that she was not prepared to compromise on. She had not wavered at the prospect of deflowering a virgin of advanced age. She had not even faltered at the prospect of a bit of "how's your father" with Father Christmas. But Rose, like any other reasonable woman, is compelled to draw the line somewhere, and for her that line is unquestionably crossed at the point where a man puts his hand down your top and finds Satan in your cleavage.

My friend summarily stopped the proceedings, ejected her gallant, and cut the weekend short. As she wrote to me afterwards she "can't be doing with that sort of thing", and I whole-heartedly concur.


As I prepare to put down my pen and close this case file I cannot help but pause to reflect upon the value of moral consistency in human relationships. In matters of romance one should be either a lying cunt of an individual, or a perfect paragon of veracity. But on no account should one adopt half measures of honesty, for it gives a false impression of one's integrity, rendering one guilty of being dishonest about honesty itself.

And with that thought I conclude my case notes for the Vexing Problem of the Beardy Albino.

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