PMA

“A man has free choice to the extent that he is rational.”

 – St. Thomas Aquinas

 

          This morning I walked into the kitchen. Ed was sitting eating a bowl of cereal. He looked up at me, impish as ever.

            “Ed, I have a small confession.”

            “What’s that then Tom? You really are a girl?”

            “I accidentally shagged Scheherazade.”

            Ed splurted cereal all over the table and started laughing uncontrollably.

            “Ed, this is serious.”

            Ed carried on laughing.

            “Ed… honestly. We’ve spoken about you taking things more seriously.”

            “Yeah, but Tom, you’re telling me you fucking slipped over on a banana skin and landed, stiff dick first, in PMA.”

            “What’s PMA, Ed?

            “Poor-Man’s-Annabell. And you know what PMA sounds like…”

            “Don’t fucking call her that Ed.”

            “Why the hell not? It’s true.”

            “Because it’s disrespectful, Ed, and because she’s in the room behind me.”

            “But you don’t say it’s not true. Don’t blame me when you call it an accident!” Scheherazade walked into the room wearing one of my shirts.

            “What accident?” She asked.

            “Tom very nearly slipped over and landed in a mess,” observed Ed.

            Scheherazade, oblivious, looked at me and said, “Be more careful sweetie.”

            I very nearly punched them both.

 

*

 

            Later, as I packed for the trip, I thought about it all. The sad thing was that I actually genuinely quite liked Scheherazade. I just couldn’t go out with a girl seen by others as PMA.