The problem with fall fashion – Advice #4523Z2

Posted on May 8, 2010


Their first date was awkward, and they were aware of this. He couldn’t see her mouth, he couldn’t hold her hand, and he had a hell of a time figuring out her weight and measurements. This could have all been avoided, if she had not been wearing a funeral pyre.

Despite the awkwardness, they had a lot to talk about.

‘Have any brothers and sisters?’ he asked.

‘Two brothers,’ she said. ‘One a fireman. One a doctor.’

‘Nice,’ he said.

‘Yes it is,’ she said.


They ate Italian while he carefully composed a question that would address her choice of fashion.  After a number of sips of Merlot and a healthy mouthful of penne he said, ‘So, you’re wrapped in a funeral pyre.’

Her two blue eyes peered from between twigs and dry, gray branches. She seemed to be anxious.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I, uh, am.’

‘If it isn’t rude,’ he said, ‘may I ask why?’

‘It’s the latest in fall fashion,’ she exclaimed with a knowing smile. It was the same smile that made him think that she thought – Oh no, oh shit, he hates it. He thinks its ugly!

It is kind of hot, in that Pagan sort of way, he thought. So he said: ‘It’s nice, in a Pagan sort of way.’

She smiled, pleased.

The evening picked up from that point, once they both relaxed over the presence of the pyre. By the end of the night things began to grow hot and heavy. There was a definite, distinct spark.

‘Oh, no,’ he said.

‘Oh, shit,’ she said.

The spark fell between them and caught on her pyre and wHHhhoOoooosh.  The entire thing burst into flames.

Of course he fled as quickly as possible. In the end he was thankful she had a doctor and fireman for brothers. He was also surprised that they managed to save her life.

The next day he sent red lilacs to the burn ward. The card read: Call me come spring.

Posted in: Year 1: Advice