Itching With Rock

I first met him when I was only thirty-eight. I was in the beauty salon carrying a stick when he danced in. He was wearing a camouflage toga, which caught my attention right away. It really accentuated his collarbone, but I pretended not to notice.

I was about to set the stick down when he flounced beside me. I guess he startled me, and I clumsily dropped the stick right by his feet. We both bent over to pick it up. It was one of those awkward moments, and we both began to itch.

After stumbling apologies, he asked me to go to the tattoo parlor for a glass of papaya juice. I accepted, and our relationship took off from there. We didn't even know each other's names yet.

At the tattoo parlor, I learned that his name was Rock, and that he was an upholsterer. This was fascinating to me, coming from my career as an exterminator.

I guess it was love at first itch. Some might say we had yardsticks in our eyes, but we felt we were perfect for each other. He was eighteen years older than I, but the age difference didn't matter to us. Even today, we are still itching for each other.