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aldo-vallon - January 19, 2019
I envy the men (and lesbians) who had girls like Olivia Paige living next door to them. She is like the Aston Martin of potential neighbors. And just like in the world of cars, we are much more likely to see a common Volkswagon sitting in their driveway than anything of note.
My Volkswagon was a woman named Mrs. Franklin. She was older than dirt when I was a child and yet has somehow managed to still hold on to life. Mrs. Franklin may not have given me any sweet daydreams like Olivia would have provided, but what she did give me was the knowledge that not everyone who smokes like a chimney will die. You might inadvertently be killing your spouse, though, as was the case for Mr. Franklin. And that knowledge is invaluable.
That is why I don’t even care that Olivia Paige chose not to live next door to me. I’m not bitter about it all. I think I am a better man because of it. I mean, who in their right mind would take an Olivia over a Mrs. Franklin? They’d pretty much be shooting themselves in the foot. Or maybe their eye depending on how they were aiming it.