Are leaders made or born? Do they have our best interests at heart?

Should we follow them without question? Or should we cause them to ask . . .

 

 Why Don’t You Trust Me?

Can’t you see

I’m

a good person,

friendly,

passionate,

someone you

can count on.

I’m better

than most,

and can

be trusted

to do

the right thing.

 

You seem

to be questioning

what I’m saying,

but why?

You think

I can’t live up

to my own expectations.

How did you come

to that conclusion?

You don’t

know me

well enough.

 

I have a vision

of myself—

one others

can only dream about,

but never achieve.

From an early age,

people used to stare

at me

and wonder about

my promising future.

 

I grew up

with other youngsters

who looked

at me

in awe.

I was the “man.”

 

Why are you

shaking

your head?

You’re saying

I’m full

of myself.

You can’t

believe that.

 

I am

what I am—

a leader.

I show others

the way

every day.

I keep them

from wandering

off the path—

from falling

into the deep abyss

of failure.

My words

captivate them

and motivate them

to succeed.

 

No,

they don’t

fear me.

And, yes,

they do

as I say,

because they

believe in me.

 

What is it

about me

that makes

you cringe?

Is it because

my strengths

are a reminder

of your weaknesses?

 

Do you

have my ability

to lead others

to a haven

of peace

and tranquility?

You don’t,

do you?

Do you want

to be me?

Admit it.

 

You’re shaking,

But why?

You see me

as a freak,

you say—

a monster

who will ruin

the lives

of others.

 

You can’t

be serious.

I’m one

to be loved,

not demeaned.

I succeed,

where all

others fail.

 

And you?

Who are you?

Nobody.

Leave now

or embrace me

with open arms

because I am

better than you.

 

I

am

the leader

you

must follow.

 

I

am

the happy ending

you

will not reach

and never

know why,

unless

you

trust

Me.

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Life can be unpredictable. Things happen when least expected.

 

Many questions arise, as you will see in . . .

 

 

Goldilocks And The Three Bares

 

     It was 9:00 pm and I was bushed. I’d worked a twelve-hour day and I couldn’t see straight. I wanted to crawl into bed, close my eyes, and disappear from the cruel world that controlled me. But it was too early.

     I sat in the huge brown recliner in the living room and drifted off. My eyes drooped and . . .

     “Jared, why is the dog barking?”

     “Huh, I don’t know.”

     “Well, go find out.”

     “Why don’t you go? I was almost asleep.”

     “If you’re going to sleep, go to bed.”

     “It’s too early. If I go to bed now, I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and lay there staring at the ceiling.”

     “Well, you’re up now. So go check on the dog.”

     “But I don’t hear any barking.”

     “Guess she stopped. Make sure she’s in the house. You know how the neighbors get when she’s out in the yard barking.”

     “Why is that my job? She’s your dog.”

     “My dog? She’s our dog.”

     “You’re the one who wanted a huge goldendoodle, not me.”

     “You love her, don’t you?”

     “Yeah, I guess.”

     “So make sure she’s in the house.”

     “Okay, you win, Cindy.” I brought the chair to an upright position, slid out of it, and plodded to the back door. I opened it and screeched, “Goldilocks, get your ass in the house.” She didn’t come. “Goldilocks, come now!”

     She’s not barking anymore and she has a doggie door. Let her come in that way, I thought. As I began to close the door, she came charging into the house, jumped up, put her paws on my shoulders, and began slobbering all over my face.

     “Down, girl!” I yelled.

     “What are you screaming about?” Cindy shouted.

     “Your dog attacked me.”

     “Our dog would never do that. She loves you.”

     I decided not to push the issue anymore. It was now past ten and I figured it would be best to close up the house and go to bed. Cindy must have felt the same way, because she joined me in the bedroom. We washed up and got into bed—Cindy on the right side, me on the left, and Goldilocks in the middle. If I wanted to get intimate with a female, it would have to be the dog.

     I put the pillow around my head and, within seconds, fell asleep. Then my body was being nudged.

     “Wake up, Jared. Something’s splashing around in the pool,” Cindy said, very concerned.

     “What? I was fast asleep.”

     “You need to check and make sure nothing’s wrong.”

     “I’ll do it in the morning. It’s probably a squirrel or some other creatures taking a bath. Just go back to bed.”

     “But Goldi’s not here.”

     “She’s probably out in the backyard playing with them.”

     “Well, go get her. If she starts barking, she’ll wake the neighbors.”

     Before I could move my lethargic body, Goldilocks came barreling into the bedroom and jumped over me onto the bed. “She’s back,” I murmured.

     “Don’t you think I know that,” Cindy snarled. “Good night!”

     The next morning, the sun shined trough the bedroom window. I stared into the warmest eyes I’d ever seen and Goldi gave me a passionate kiss.

     “Aren’t you going to work today?” Cindy asked.

     “Aren’t you?” I replied.

     “I asked you first,” she grunted.

     “I’m working from home. After my long day yesterday, I need my space. And you?”

     “I don’t have to be there until eleven for our office meeting.”

     Time seemed to fly by. There were no interruptions. I worked on the computer, made a few calls, and watched Goldilocks sleep in her bed across from my desk and get up to go pee in the backyard a couple of times. Nothing much to brag about.

     At 5:15 pm, Cindy entered the house from the garage. “What a day I had,” she moaned. “Nothing went right.”

     “So, tell me what happened.”

     “Later. I’ve got to get undressed.”

     I started to straighten my desk and file some papers, when Cindy came back into the room. She seemed to be holding something behind her back and had a scowl on her face.

     “You don’t look good”, I said.

     “Oh, you’re so right.” She stared at me, with daggers in her eyes. “You’re cheating on me, aren’t you!” she screamed.

     “Cheating on you? Why would I do that?”

     “I found this sticking out from under the bed on my side. And it’s not mine. So, ‘Mr. I’m Not Cheating,’ what do you have to say?”

     She held a bra in her hand, waving it back and forth. “Uh, I’ve never seen that before.”

     “Come on, own up to it, or I’m leaving.”

     “Cindy, it’s not mine. It’s too small.”

     “That’s not funny. This is our marriage I’m talking about.”

     “I know, but I don’t know anything about the bra. And I love you.”

     “Then where did it come from?”

     “I have no idea, but we’ll figure it out.”

     After dinner, I followed Goldi outside twice. She sniffed and smelled and pooped, nothing more. So I figured, it would be a calm and quiet night. We watched TV. Then Cindy headed to the bedroom and I went into the den to check my email.

     I was about shut down my computer for the evening, when the phone rang. “Hello,” I said.

     “Jared, it’s your neighbor, Ben.”

     “What’s up, Ben? Is Goldi barking?”

     “Only once or twice. But I think she may have jumped into your pool.”

     “That’s weird. She’s never done that before. I’ll go check. Thanks for giving me a heads up.”

     I hung up the phone and headed toward the back door. Goldilocks, standing by the dog door, inside the house, shook, spewing water throughout the laundry room. Everything was dripping.

     “Goldi, calm down,” I said. But she continued to shake. Come on, girl, stop!”

     To my surprise, she held something in her mouth. But, when I started to reach for it, she ran away. To her, it was playtime. I chased her into the living room and she came toward me and dropped it at my feet, expecting me to take it and throw it.

     I picked it up and almost choked on my saliva. It was a pair of women’s panties. Clutching them, I headed to the bedroom, with Goldi following me. Cindy was sitting in bed reading.

     She looked at me and asked, “What are you holding?”

     I leaned forward and whispered, “My girlfriend’s panties.”

     “Your what?”

     “You heard me.” I twirled them around with my index finger.

     “Where did they come from?”

     “The backyard, I guess. I think Goldi jumped in the pool to get them.”

     “How did they get into the pool? We haven’t used it in months. And they’re not mine.”

     “Damned if I know, but I’m going to find out.”

     I made sure all the doors in the house were locked. I shut off the outside lights, grabbed my supersized flashlight, exited through the garage to the side of the house, and moved down the pathway to the pool, with Goldi following close behind.

     Then, without warning, Goldilocks bolted ahead of me toward the hot tub. With my flashlight pointed at the tub, I froze. There, to my amazement, sat three naked young women, with Goldi standing outside the tub licking their faces.

     “Hi, Mr. Alby,” they chanted in unison.

     I gasped, covered my eyes, and hustled into the house to tell Cindy the true story of “Goldilocks and the Three Bares.”

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Something happened in my past that sticks in my mind. I couldn’t have anticipated it.

 

I was caught off guard when it occurred. This will become clear, as I recall . . .

 

 

A Time In My Life

 

     When you’re young and single, you confront life with vigor and determination. The challenges are infinite and the encounters are intriguing. However, when you are “old” and single, you approach the single life with caution and trepidation. At the same time, you want to be both a “player” in the singles scene and to avoid it like the plague. 

     In 1996, at age 51, I found myself single again. I hadn’t asked for this, nor did I want it, but the choice was not mine. One night my wife walked into the living room, looked me straight in the eye and said, “It’s over.”

     “What’s over?” I asked, somewhat confused.

     “Us,” she replied.

     It took some time, but when I healed from this shock, I had to decide how to approach my newfound single life—wallow in self-pity and abject loneliness, or venture into the hard and sometimes cruel world of dating. I chose the latter.

     The decision to reenter the singles scene was not as difficult as that of deciding how to make my way in this strange, new alien universe. Being neither a drinker nor a smoker, hanging out at a bar was frightening and somewhat repulsive.

     Now, there were many singles dances advertised in the local paper. I love dancing, but I was afraid of being rejected when I asked a woman to dance. I pictured myself moving, with caution, in the direction of an attractive woman, making eye contact, and asking in my most melodious voice, “May I have this dance?” only to be told, “Nooooooooooo!” If this happened, I would retreat back to my corner of the room, curl up in a ball, and die.

     So, how should I enter this world I didn’t understand? I thought. As an ardent newspaper reader, one Friday, I came across the singles ads in the personals section of the paper. My eyes scanned the many ads from exciting, beautiful, intriguing, dynamic, and playful women. How could I go wrong? 

     With pencil in hand, I went from ad to ad, checking off those women that seemed to fit my most wonderful fantasies. At the conclusion of my search, I had selected four “lucky ladies” to receive a call from me.

     The paper’s protocol required I leave a message in a recipient’s mailbox and then await a return call. I rehearsed my message over and over again. I wanted to appear eligible, but not too eligible; exciting, but not too excited; interested, but by no means needy; and a good catch, but certainly not desperate. 

     Making my best effort, I crafted a speech I could deliver so it didn’t appear rehearsed. Still feeling somewhat uncomfortable, I dialed each of the four numbers and left what I thought was the greatest “sales pitch” of all time. Having accomplished my mission, I sat back and waited.

     As I found out later, most of the women who advertised received as many as one hundred replies. And therefore, even the great ones, such as mine, might get overlooked. Not to be put off by this, I did what any self-assured, great man would do; I continued to wait.

     One evening, after returning from work, there were two messages on my answering machine. “Hooray!” I screamed. I’d hit the jackpot. Oh my God!  Now I have to call them back, I thought. I looked at the clock. It was 8:00 pm. “Is it too late to call?” I muttered. “No way,” I sighed. The timing was just right. So I dialed the first woman. 

     “Hello,” she said.

     “Hi, Mona, I’m Simon. You left me a message.”   

     “Yes, I was intrigued by what you said in your message. I’d love to meet you.”

     And so we agreed to meet. The other call also was pleasant and Debbie and I agreed to get together. Although the initial meeting with each woman was interesting and, for the most part, comfortable, there was no real “match.” However, I had entered the water and didn’t drown. Certain of future success, I would do this again.

     But then, I experienced a rude awakening. I received my phone bill. Yikes!  At a $1.99 a minute to leave my beautifully crafted, well rehearsed, and very long message, I now was in a position where I needed to take out a second mortgage on the house to pay my phone bill. This certainly was not the way to go.

     It was at that time that the light bulb went on in my head. I needed to be the one to place the ad and to receive the call. Then, if I only responded to those women who were in my local calling area, my phone bill would be manageable, and I would not lose my home.

     I sat at my desk for hours trying to craft the ad—one I’d be proud to place. And then it happened, as follows:

 

“WANTED FOR STEALING . . .

my heart—an attractive, fit, divorced lady, 40-50, with a great smile, and wonderful sense of humor, to begin an honest, sharing relationship with a divorced, bright, engaging gentleman; an educated professional, who enjoys sports, dancing, writing, dogs, and intimate conversations."

 

     I posted the ad in the paper and waited patiently for the hundreds of calls that I would get. But, if I only received one from the very special lady that I’d been looking for, I’d be satisfied.

     A week later, as I relaxed on the couch thinking about where my love life was headed, the phone rang. I picked it up and, before I could say a word, a woman’s shrill voice resonated, “Hello, Prince Charming. I’m so glad you’ve entered my life again. I believe we’re the perfect match.”

     I was speechless. And then, I stuttered, “Again? You do?”

     “Yes.”

     “Why?”

     “Before I respond to that, I have two questions I’d like to ask you. Is that all right?”

     “Okay.”

     “What kind of car do you drive? And, do you wear glasses with thick black frames?” 

     I felt as if I was back in high school. “Uh, a Buick. And, well, yes, I do. Is that acceptable to you?”

     “I guess it has to be.”

     “Why?”

     “Because you haven’t changed a bit.”

     “I haven’t?”

     “No, you haven’t.”

     “How do you know?”

     “Our mother told me.”

     “My mother?”

     “No, our mother.”

     “How can that be?”

     “If you’d return my calls, little brother, I wouldn’t have to resort to responding to your ad in the newspaper.”

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.