Goodnight Tweetheart
the hot-eyed Tuscan maitre d’ is giving us the evil eye. Shall we go?
    Abby_Donovan: I’d say “Your place or mine?” but since we’ve already established I don’t lick on the first date …
    MarkBaynard: It’s still a lovely night. How about if I just walk you back to the villa where you’re staying?
    Abby_Donovan: The 16th-century villa with the marble floors, the frescoed ceiling painted by Michelangelo, and the climate-controlled wine cellar?
    MarkBaynard: That would be the one. You are paying for dinner, right?
    Abby_Donovan: So (I say as we stroll down a cobbled alleyway), how did you end up teaching English lit? A love of books or of shaping young minds?
    MarkBaynard: A love of being tenured before I was thirty-five. The books and young minds were fringe benefits along with the 401K and the dental plan.
    Abby_Donovan: I’m not buying your dimestore cynicism, Mr. Baynard. I’m convinced the wounded heart of a romantic beats beneath that sardonic exterior.
    MarkBaynard: If you must know, I chose English lit because I wanted to wear one of those houndstooth jackets w/ the leather patches on the elbows to work.
    Abby_Donovan: It’ll look fabulous on the dust jacket of your first novel.
    MarkBaynard: Plus it was really the only possible vocational choice for a kid who used to carry a briefcase to grade school.
    Abby_Donovan: I used to do that too!
    MarkBaynard: Yeah, but if you’re a girl they don’t steal your lunch money and give you an atomic wedgie for it.
    Abby_Donovan: You never did tell me what book an English lit professor would take on his 3-hour tour?
    MarkBaynard: The Kama Sutra, of course. Especially if Ginger and Mary Ann were on board.
    Abby_Donovan: And if you had to choose a book WITHOUT pictures? Tolstoy? Dickens? Updike?
    MarkBaynard: No Biff the Bunny, huh? How about A PRAYER FOR OWEN MEANY by John Irving?
    Abby_Donovan: Really? I would have pegged you as more of a Hunter S. Thompson man.
    MarkBaynard: He was gonzo, but Irving, like Jerry Seinfeld, knows the only way to survive this life is to view it as some sort of absurdist tragi-comedy.
    Abby_Donovan: No matter how tragic or comic, all of Irving’s books incorporate a pervasive sense of destiny.
    MarkBaynard: Maybe that’s the secret appeal for me. In a John Irving novel, nobody ever dies a meaningless death. Ah, here we are back at your villa.
    Abby_Donovan: Do you want your coat back?
    MarkBaynard: Keep it. It’ll give me an excuse to call you again.
    Abby_Donovan: What makes you think I’ll answer?
    MarkBaynard: Because you care enough to play hard to get.
    Abby_Donovan: Maybe I’m just bored because my hot Italian lover is off racing his Formula One Ferrari at Monza.
    MarkBaynard: His loss. My gain.
    Abby_Donovan: Why are you looking at me like that?
    MarkBaynard: I’m trying to decide if I should kiss you goodnight.
    Abby_Donovan: I’m trying to decide if I want you to kiss me.
    MarkBaynard: I definitely want to kiss you but I don’t want to scare you away.
    Abby_Donovan: I don’t frighten that easily.
    MarkBaynard: Then why are you trembling? (I lean down & ever so gently brush my lips against your temple, inhaling the scent of your strawberry shampoo.)
    Abby_Donovan: It’s Paul Mitchell. I haven’t used strawberry shampoo since the 6th grade.
    MarkBaynard: (Then I turn and walk away, the epitome of Steve McQueen cool, humming “Perfect Day” by Lou Reed while you gaze longingly after me.)
    Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Sawyer (I call after you, admiring your carefully calculated slouch.)
    MarkBaynard: Goodnight Freckles (I toss over my shoulder.)
    Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Hurly
    MarkBaynard: Goodnight Juliet
    Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Dr. Jack
    MarkBaynard: Goodnight Penny
    Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Desmond
    MarkBaynard: Goodnight Sun
    Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Smoke Monster
    MarkBaynard: Goodnight Tweetheart …
Long after Mark was gone, Abby continued to stare at her Tweetdeck through semidazed eyes. Several new tweets from

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