The lady was bad news.
She was the sick in my cigarette and the poison in my punch. She was the genie in the lamp – but make no mistake – she wasn’t the good kind of genie. No sir.
Oh, sure – she liked to be rubbed here and there – and a little there too – but that came with a price. She was pure mint, man – pure mint. She went down cool and sweet but left me burning.
Not that kind of burning, wise guy. In my heart. Though she did put the zip in my Zippo.
And her figure? Hell of a figure. She put the “chest” in Chesterfield. LS/MFT? Looks mighty fine, tiger.
But in the end she was just another unlucky strike-out.
Always busting my hump. “You ought to do something with yourself – stop wasting your time writing that tripe you call a novel.”
You know. “Get a real job, you bum.”
I never understood it. Lovely lady. Lovely. Beautiful brown eyes that turned me into a pile of quivering goo every time she looked at me. Soft, wispy hair that framed her face like tendrils of smoke. Sweet smile, too. Sickly sweet when she wanted something.
Yeah. That woman was pure mint.
Damn, I miss her sometimes.
A HUGE thank you goes to Chris at The Muscleheaded Blog for providing the image and the encouragement – and for his introduction to “Dwig”. He has a great post about Clare Victor “Dwig” Dwiggins – check it out. I love this image – it’s sweet and eerie at the same time.
And now I’m going to WRECK the effect of this piece by admitting that – when I first saw the series – I thought of that terrible trio: Cigarettes & Whiskey & Wild, Wild Women. Here’s a favorite version from my childhood.