Of wit and the people who don't get it

It gets a little unnerving when even someone you have slept with for over a year does not get your witty remarks. Ordinary mortals would begin to question the very genesis of their sense of humour. It is one thing to have your wit bounce over those you work with - they usually have the IQ of a Microsoft Windows computer and it is quite acceptable to look down upon them. Quite another, however, when that happens with someone who is aware of how many moles you have in those regions of your body that you never saw yourself.

Thank the devil for life's small favours then that I am neither ordinary nor a mortal. So what if I choose to work the numbers on my laptop in a Salsa club teeming with hot women tapping their feet to some lovely music? Could any ordinary mortal resist the lure of giving in to the temptation? That I don't know Salsa from Dirty Dancing (not much difference, or is there?) notwithstanding.

I have made it abundantly clear that I don't discriminate on the basis of race, colour or marital status. Up until yesterday I did not know if I actually believed in it or if it was an illusion I had built up around me. Anyway. The woman in reference called me at what can be described as the best time of the day - the 15 minutes before wake up time. We are still on good terms though now there is nothing between us. Not even a sheet! He he he. Could not pass up making an innuendo. My bad.

So we get talking about this woman I meet at the club. Not like I want to grow old with her or something. I have an eye that tends to appreciate the finer aspects of life, and let us leave it at that. She is married. In fact, that was the first thing that I noticed about her. Did not make an iota of a difference. But that is all supporting information. Here is the part about the wit.

I tell the woman who called that the woman who does the Salsa is exactly my type. She knows what my type is - any woman who knows what she wants and is not afraid to get it. She asked nonetheless. That was all the invitation I needed. The conversation went something like this:

Woman on phone: "So what is your type? Tall, beautiful, demure?"
Me: "Married."

C'mon. That was a good one. But it sailed right over her head. Or may be that is what happens to women post me. Withdrawal symptoms perhaps? Whatever it is, let me not try to analyse it lest I should get a thump on my skull.

Since I have never bothered with order on my blogs, let me continue with the tradition and digress. I think I am falling in love all over again. With my feet. I was giving myself a foot massage, and the skin was oh so soft! Like I was touching a baby. If there is ever such a thing as masturbating your vanity, then feeling your smooth feet would be it.