The story of Sam
(Note: This is a continuation of my attempt to explain why I choose to be alone (at the moment), to live without a companion. And, just possibly, it will serve as a bedtime story/riddle for a magic girl.)
Some of you might recall that among my activities in college I was a player (in the real sense of the word) on the judo team. Among the members was a young man who I shall call Sam for the purposes of this post.
Sam came from a family that had a prosperous business. He worked in the business on average two hours a day, five days a week. For this extraordinary exertion, he received the same wages as a full-time, forty-hour-a-week, non-family member received for doing exactly the same manner of work. That means ten hours = forty hours worth of money for Sam.
Needless to say, he was well to do for a college boy.
Sam was very short and stocky. Sort of like a tree stump. This was a great advantage when competing in judo, where leverage and motion are the primary ingredients of competition. If you are uncertain what I mean, try pulling a tree stump out of the ground.
Unfortunately for Sam, being a tree-stump-type of fellow is not an advantage in competing for the attention of the opposite sex. Add to that, he was somewhat less than average in terms of facial features and hid most of them behind a rather large beard.
Sam had a thing about women. He was saving himself in a Biblical sense for Ms. Perfect. I am serious. Due to his physical characteristics, most women did not look at him twice unless, possibly, they saw him driving his classy, new car down the road pulling his classy, new boat behind it or noticed him separating the hundred dollar bills from the fifty dollar bills while buying a bottle of Southern Comfort. (Yummy.) This is to say, some very beautiful women became very interested in him if they saw him under the "right" circumstances. But, did Sam notice them? No way.
We, Sam's friends and fellow judo enthusiasts, often tried our best to introduce him to girls we genuinely thought would be good for him -- and, on occasion, tried to trick him into stop saving himself for Ms. Perfect. For instance, there was the time we got him into a game of strip poker with four women who agreed to lose intentionally.
The exercise was a complete failure. Sam got drunk, got mad and left the house naked. It quickly had become evident he was not born to play poker. He slept in his car outside the house that night. Alone.
There was one girl Sam thought might be Ms. Perfect. Again, unfortunately for Sam, this was Becky, and Becky was his best friend's girl. This meant she was off limits. All right .... rather than go on down that path into unpleasant memories and infidelity and indiscretion and betrayal, I will return to the thrust of the story. (Captured your interest there, did I not? But, I never tell stories out of school.)
Sam never did finish college. He took over the family business and, shocking his friends and judo teammates, got married to a rather plain, dull woman with a shrill voice. She was the daughter of a friend of his parents and his grandparents. Hmmm.
Sam built a huge house by a lake, bought a more expensive car and a larger boat and .... and .... and .... well, try imagining your own ending to this story and Sam's search for Ms. Perfect -- and, how it might apply to me. If you do try, I will tell you if you are right or wrong. If you are bored or not the curious type, see you another time -- maybe.
Side note No. 1: I have mentioned Sam a time or two in earlier posts. He was the man who said that he admired me more than anyone he had ever known because I was the only person he had ever known who did not give a damn about anything. I told him he was misinterpreting me. My actions were the result of giving a damn about everything, but not knowing how to handle it.
Side note No. 2: Even in college, Sam had a boat to match no others in speed. Skiing behind it on one occasion, I decided to hold on to the rope to see what would happen the next time I took a tumble. Well, I took a tumble and hung on to the rope. I learned what it feels like to be a torpedo -- and, my swim suit ended up at my ankles. It could have been worse.