Lost Lady of the Wooden Eye

Dedicated Readers,

Today I thought I would retell one of my favorite sagas from the Archives of Higgins. It takes place roughly 10 years in an era that many of you uncivilized rapscallions would call the Naughty Nineties. I will admit, however, that back in these dark days, I was not the perfect being that you see in my current portrait. I still had a curse from my fetal life; a hair lip. Lucky for me, I had, and still have a phenomenal mane of hair on my upper lip that I was able to hide my minor flaw.
As I am very much still today, I was quite a dashing debutant back in 1999; the desire of the damsels, the envy of the elite. In a nutshell, every woman wanted to be with me and every man wanted to be like me.
Over a colorful period of approximately 5 years, from 1994-1995, I was in the presence of easily over 1200 intoxicatingly stunning women without finding one female who could connect with me on a cerebral level. Every lady that I attempted to match neuronal wits with quickly wilted like a rose in the Sahara desert. I soon began to drown my frustrations with an old friend, Mr. Glen Fiddich, resigning myself to a life of unquenched intellectual promiscuity.
One day, while sitting in my favorite tavern, enjoying a conversation with a 30 year old Mr. Fiddich, I was approached by a heavenly form so perfect it could have only been created by the artists at Victoria’s Secret. This angelic woman had the body of Venus and smelled of rich mahogany. Her hair was like cinnamon and her voice was like the chortling of underwater jelly fish. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, I was astonished to find out that not only was her intelligence rapier-like sharp, but she also proved to be quite adept at contemporary cultural topics.
As with all things, there was a small runner in the panty hose of life. This woman confided in me that her left eye was actually crafted from a piece of wood. She had lost the eye in a whaling expedition and had hand-carved a replica from the oar on the sailing vessel. It was a nearly identical match to her right eye and only with extreme scrutiny could you see a difference. I did not let this dissuade my admiration for her, and I in turn confided in her of my miniscule imperfection aka Hair Lip. We both embraced each others minor flaws and soon they went the way of the Dodo.
We spent the next several days together discussing our contemporaries who were so far beneath our status as to not waste our time with trifle interactions. Dinners at elegant restaurants, drinks at the most intimate of brothels followed by entertainment by the finest roller-derby and mud-wrestling competitions. One night, she asked if we could skip our trip to see professional wrestling in lieu of an opening of a new dance club downtown. As the Higgins men have always been exquisite dancers, I thought this sounded like a wonderful idea.
We arrived at the club, Boogie Knights (a medieval themed club), got some glasses of mead, and obtained a table near the dance floor. After 20 minutes of watch the people on the floor, my companion must have gotten a little anxious about experiencing the Higgins dance moves. She looked at me, and in a voice that was a little loud and tinged with nervousness and said, “WOULD YOU LIKE TO DANCE?” I was a little startled by this blunt proposal and became momentarily rattled. I stammered and stuttered out “Would I….Would I……” She became instantly enraged, and yelled back at the top of her lungs, “Hair Lip….Hair Lip.” Needless to say, that was the end of our courting.
I apologize to my readers who were looking forward to a sweet, sweet end to this sad saga. In this case, however, it was not meant to be. Since that time, there have been many more women who have experienced “The Higgins” but none have approached this Lost Lady of the Wooden Eye.

As the old saying goes “you win some, you lose some, but mainly you call them the wrong name at inopportune times and they get mad.” ER Higgins 2009.