Splenda Hippocampus

She was the first girl I ever dated. Bucktoothed, goggle-eyed, a misshapen mass of limbs and protuberances, I was a wreck. Splenda, though, spilled gorgeous all over the place. I was lured in by her glowing green eyes, and trapped like a mackerel in the seine of purple hair that fell down her back.

She chomped through her burger and grabbed a fistful of fries. "This is a blind date," Splenda said, "but I ain't blind. Didn't your parents ever hear of orthodontics?" I slurped soda through a straw wedged between my incisors. It was stuck, so I just shook my head. "And those Coke bottles on your schnoz. Are they bulletproof?" She hiccuped and snorted, a waterfall of musical laughter.

Splenda's razor wit would have sliced me to ribbons were I not wrapped in the chain mail of love at first sight. "Your brows meet in the middle like U.N. delegates," she cracked. "Is that Rainier or Everest on your forehead? I think I see mountain climbers." I smiled. She was sharp, deadly, adorable.

"Listen, don't you get it? You're an ugly freak, and I hate my sister for setting me up with you." Splenda had broken a few hearts, a few more jaws, and a lot more egos. "Don't you have any self respect? Here I am, dragging you all over the carpet, and all you do is stare and smile like a proboscis monkey." She threw a five dollar bill on the table and snatched up her purse. Tiny tears were welling up in her eyes, and I thought my heart would fall out of my chest.

"You stupid, stupid..." She couldn't finish the sentence, and stormed out.

I never saw Splenda Hippocampus after that. But the memory of her beautiful smile, of her beautiful eyes, of her beautiful, beautiful hair, haunts me to this day.



[twenty-eighth in a series]