BEFORE I MET BERNI—the light of my life, the fickle of my fancy—I dated a lot of women. Tried dating through the Personals section at the back of the local weeklies here in Seattle (The Stranger and Seattle Weekly). Needless to say, I had a lot of interesting experiences, none of which lasted long.
One interesting date was with a New Age counselor (and I am afraid that I am no New Ager’s idea of a New Ager). The conversation was great, especially when I asked about the relationship of much of the movement to LSD and related psychedelics, a favorite topic of mine.
If you have never tried this kind of dating (and it is far less intimate than online dating, as the first date is often a bit of a shock for both parties), the success rate of first encounters leading to second and third is rather modest.
But the most amazing instance of the briefest of such encounters was this: once, about sixteen years ago, I almost had a genuine psychic girlfriend! You know how I KNEW she was the real thing?
Because she left me before we met . . .
HEADER IMAGE: Hoping y’all don’t need me to tell you who this lovely lass (“my psychic girlfriend”) is . . .