The cul de sac we live on in Woodland Hills is a favorite place for lovers. There are no houses at the end, and the site overlooks Utah Valley, with a spectacular view at night.
Lovers often leave behind evidence of their hot sex (which makes me happy for them but angry that they just shove their leavings out the door instead of finding a trash can!). But this morning Blue and I came across evidence of love gone awry.
Sensitive readers be warned. Some of the evidence is graphic!
We sniffed around a little (Blue is better at this than I am) and found more evidence:
We’ll never know the exact details, but here is how we have decided to write up the case:
A poor and unwashed student driving a rusty 1982 Toyota picks up the girl of his dreams on Valentine’s Day and drives her up to the lofty lookout called Vista Circle.
It’s beautiful here, she says, peering through the dense and dirty clouds of the winter inversion.
A token of my affection, he says, and reaches into the back seat for the daisies he bought earlier at the grocery store.
Oh, she says. Daisies.
To show you how much I love you, he says, and when he sees her shiver he turns on the car to run the heater.
$4.87 she reads on the label of the green plastic wrapper.
This is how much you love me? she asks.
Yes it is, he answers.
Well let me show you how much I love you, she says.
She opens her door and steps out onto the cul de sac. She begins to hum the 1960 instrumental Apache by the Shadows and dances wild circles between snowdrifts. With each circle she pulls a daisy out of the plastic wrapping, swings it around her head, and flings it into the darkness. There are only four daisies. But it is a short tune.
Watch for our forthcoming full report: The Valentine’s Day/Night Massacre on Vista Circle.
THE GOALIE'S ANXIETY 