BEFORE I MET BERNI—who is the light of me life, the fickle of me fancy, my reason for laughing for crying for living for dying (she’s my soul and my heart’s inspiration!)—I dated a lot of women. I mean, a LOT.
Once, about seventeen years ago, I almost—ALMOST!!!—had a genuine psychic girlfriend! Now, I know that that’s not that difficult these day—seems your local town psychic is as common in most areas as your local village idiot is in Texas. (And no no no, they aren’t all named Bush or Perry.)
Now, you wanna know how I just knew—I mean KNEW!—she was the real thing? A genuine, dyed-in-the-wool, prophesizer? That she could see the future?
Because she could see the future, she left me before we met . . .