My latest piece of fan (e)mail arrived from New Zealand. New Zealand? Aren't these the guys who go ape and make all the scary faces at the Rugby tournaments? But this correspondence was from a lady. Wonder if she has a tattoo?
I get very little fan mail, though, so a letter from New Zealand doesn't bother me. I'm more intrigued by the question of how one of my books ended up in New Zealand. Carrier pigeon? Long slow boat to China? Inside a bottle? And I'm all the more intrigued when foreign women write to me or show me the kind of attention I don't get at home.
I'd like to visit New Zealand some day. I might even take my wife. I hear it's one of the most beautiful places on earth. And, since I have a connection there, I could walk up to women on the street and ask, "Are you the hottie who read my book?" Perhaps I'd get a free dessert.
Naturally, whenever I make connections with women in other countries, I tell my wife about it. She just yawns and says, "Go for it." She knows I don't know how to book a flight through Travelocity.com and that I rarely travel further than a tank of gas will carry me. Sometimes she hides my car keys. I walk a lot.
My wife does say nice things to me, occassionally. Just last night she said, "One of these days I'm going to get up enough nerve to take you some place. Where would you like to go?"
I shared with her my dream of eating at Denny's. She thought we could swing it. We're now trying to locate one of these restaurants in the yellow pages. I hope to enjoy the salad bar. I've heard so much about them.
Of course, I continue to hold out the fantasy that my wife would like to have me for dessert. Heck, I'm that sweet. And she won't even have to fly to New Zealand.