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Thursday, February 12, 2004
Yap: Love’s prostitute
By Januar E. Yap
Meanwhile
One fidgety, obviously unsettled friend once came, sweating a river, and shoved a stationery and a pen. The paper, sleek and neat but expectedly damp with cliché, was where he was supposed to pour forth his feelings. He was so full of feelings, he said, it was only for his own health to release them. Uh, okay, I said.
The addressee, he hastened to add, was a pretty lady he once met in one of his aimless forays set off by a portentous series of tequila shots. I used “pretty lady” as a lazy way to translate what took my friend a lengthy oratory to describe.
Well, okay, the object of his affection was a longhaired medical student from one of
the exclusive schools in the city. She was so fair she matched with her white uniform. She looked like a US bond paper, my friend exclaimed. For a moment, I realized how dull I was I couldn’t figure out the amiability of a US bond paper.
Anyway, she had brown eyes that seemed to suck his soul in. The way she laughed, he said, could inspire an army of angels in bad mood into a giggling fit.
“Why don’t you write that down?” I told my friend.
“That is your job today. I’ll buy you beer if you can fill this up,” he said.
She is a medical student, right? Yes, he said.
So I wrote: Everdearest, I’ve been perennially febrile, tachycardeic and polydipseic ever since I saw you. My pupils dilate each time I see the glitter on your osjaponicum when you smile. And your mandible, oh how unsettlingly sexy they are as they connect with your sternocleidomastoid.
Look at how your angel pendant rests divinely on your suprasternal notch. If only I could behold your mammary glands in the near future. Your glueteus maximus, oh, they could make an entire army swoon in defeat. Lady, since Valentines Day is fast approaching and how terrifying it is to fall into the execution queue, I hasten to propose to embed, via natural selection, a few dominant genes into your uterine flora. I long for the day to see you as a primigravida admission for OB.
And thus read my friend’s love letter. Anyway, he is still single up to this day and still buying me beer.
(February 12, 2004 issue)
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