This was another modified excerpt from my as-yet-unpublished novel My Life with Michael: A Story of Sex and Beer for the Middle-Aged. It made a good short story, I thought. Chock full of frustration and foiled desire. I originally created the excerpt for a Free Flash Fiction contest on the theme of Unrequited Love. It didn’t place, but it wasn’t quite on theme either. Is there such a thing as half-requited love?
In any case, this longer version definitely worked better as a story. It’s strange, though; I seem to have a penchant for main characters who perpetually make asses of themselves. I am absolutely certain that there is nothing in the least bit autobiographical about that.