I was hungry for love.

"Son, always try to make the best of every situation," my dad used to tell me. So I went to the soda 'n chips aisle and got a can of Pringles, because I can eat Pringles when I'm not hungry. I can eat them whole or cracked. I could eat them even if I'd had my jaw broken in a freak bar fight and it was necessary to run the darn things through a blender and then suck 'em through a straw since my mouth was wired shut. Even if I'm full to bursting I can still eat Pringles. And that's true for Jell-O now, too. But more on that later!

I took my Pringles up front, and looked- there she was. Doris. When I saw her my longing, my hunger, became an acute pain in my right eye, and I belched. Love! Yes, love had blinded me. Half blinded me, anyway. And given me gas. Listing to port I tried my best to saunter casually to her checkout lane. Lane number four, a holy number, a divine number, the number of children we would have together, perhaps? The number of days she would spend in labor if we had only one? The number of bones in my right hand that she would break, squeezing in pain during that labor, cursing my name and the nameless wad of life she was trying to push out of her that I had put inside? Four. My heart swelled. She was a vision, her brown-brown hair, cut in what would be called a Prince Valiant if she were a boy; her blue eyes. Her forehead was a rolling plane in which I wanted to run barefoot, if only I were small enough and there were, you know, no bugs, as I'm allergic. She had cheeks: round, pink; precious. Her lips were like two life boats that would save my soul, drowning in unadulterated love for her. Even the wart on her chin was lovely.

Timidly, I put my can of processed potato Pringles on the counter, letting my hand linger- maybe she would grab for the can quickly, and touch my fingers with hers? No, she was busy fetching gum from a foil wrapper. Fluorescent light from overhead bounced gaily off the foil, bathing her face in a brief halo, her wart winking at me. There were four hairs poking out of it, and somehow, my heart stopped beating. I let my hand fall, transfixed- but nor forgotten, for I would certainly use that hand later!- watching that great cavern of love, that very dirigible hangar of joy and ecstasy open, her lips moist, her tongue- oh I shudder in passion to recall it- lolling, and she popped her gum into her mouth. She chewed, I think, with passion.

She grabbed the can, and I gulped- the skin below her biceps swung in her cute checkout-person's all-polyester shirt. I read the name tag above her voluminous breasts, and let my eye drift languidly and lecherously down her body- around every curve, over each bump, along every rise. Her legs were clad in stretch pants, and her brilliance as a fashion mogul was apparent, as those stretch pants were stretched.

"That all?" she cooed in a bark of a voice, and I knew we were meant to be together forever when I looked up, past the perfectly round and well-insulated-with-hair nostrils, over the playful black dots that speckled her nose like migrant freckles, and into her deep, blue like aqua-velva eyes. I opened my mouth. I meant to say, "No, that's all, Doris," But instead, I tried to kiss her!

I missed, of course. And thank God! She was no common hussy, no average supermarket floozy, no garden-variety discount grocery bit of fluff. Not my Doris. My feet slipped on the linoleum of her checkout lane (number four!) and my ribs rattled as I slid quickly down the side of her rubber conveyor-belt thingy, chucking my chin. That got my heart going! "Jesus Christ what's the matter with you?" she queried sweetly, disguising her own passion in squeaks and rasps, squeaks and rasp that only made me, well, to put it bluntly, hornier. I stood up quickly and said, "No, that's all, D- D- Duh." But I couldn't say her name. Ah, love!

I spent the next several weeks visiting Doris. I bought my groceries one item at a time. Anyone else would've said something. Accused me of weirdness, claimed I was a freak or something. Not my Doris! She checked my item- Pringles, or bean dip, or Spam- and never said a word except, "That all?" and, "two-thirty four." Every time she said 'four.' my knees went weak. Sometimes her line was longer than the others, but I got into it just the same. Sometimes I would let people go before me, just so I could watch Doris for longer periods of time. The way her meaty hands caressed the goods as she grabbed them, the swift but sure way she swept them once, twice, thrice over the UPC code reader, until the damn thing finally worked. The way her entire body shimmied as she turned to fling with love the can or bag toward the bag-boy (a no good lech who's tires I would've slashed had he so much as touched her!). Sometimes her lipstick became smeared from using the microphone when she need a price check on Depends or donuts, and I wished it could have been me doing the smearing. When she walked to the cage to get a roll of quarters, I watched her impressive legs work their walking magic. Once she wore a skirt, and I mapped in my mind every fold, every bubble of her considerable thighs.

I admit it, I followed her home a few times. But this was love, not some schoolboy lust. Sure, I looked into her windows- not as a slimy pervert, but as an admirer, a worshiper, if you will. I wanted to know if she lived alone, and thank God, she did! I couldn't stand the thought of her with another man. And honestly, I think I would've killed, or least wounded, any male that might have tried courting my Doris. Crazy, insane, wacked-out, call it what you will- I call it destiny, fate, love love love, dammit, love!

Finally, one day, I managed enough nerve to ask her out. I prepared my self with expensive shoes, expensive cologne, and an empty cupboard. I filled my shopping cart to bursting, making sure I had many of those items that would need a price check. I brought no coupons- Doris hated them.

She was a vision. Her hair was shiny, as was her forehead and the insides of her elbows, from feminine perspiration. She was wearing that check-out shirt I love so much, and yes, the stretch pants, the s-t-r-e-t-c-h pants that will forever be my favorites. I let her get her rhythm, checking things swiftly. I glared at the the bag-boy, so he would know I was marking my territory, then I started some small talk.

"Burritoes, huh?"

"Yup," she said. Her affirmative response emboldened me.

"Yeah, I sure eat a lot of corn flakes."

"Huh."

Suddenly I was embarrassed. Talking about breakfast foods, like we would be together to eat them ( I could only hope). I felt giddy and stupid. "Uh, yeah, so you like Chinese food?" Damn! Somehow I'd forgotten to wait for the Ramen, with which I could've broken the subject more easily. I was acting like a regular schoolboy.

"Sure," she said, and then she popped her gum!!! I was on a role. Nothing could stop me!

"So, like, do youwannagogetsomechinesefoodwithmesometime?" My voice squeaked to an incomprehensible pitch. Damn! Mairde sandwich, as my dad used to say!

"Whatever," she said flatly. I was stunned. She continued to check my bread, kool-aid, mayonnaise. I felt like I might fall down, like the first time I saw her. She said yes! She actually said yes! Saliva began to squirt into my mouth, hot and coppery. My armpits grew warm. Oh, happy day! Happy, huge, hairy day!

"Great! Great! So Friday then? Pick you up at eight?" I would've winced if I had realized I'd made a rhyme, something I normally hate. But I was enraptured. Smitten, even. Kill me now, oh God, for my life has reached its zenith!

"Sure." She was down to my last few things- some deodorant, some razors, a box of Preparation H. The bag boy continued to bag and placed each full one into my cart. He overfilled one bag, and somehow, in the headiness of my good fortune and success I knew it would probably rip- but mine was a happiness undentable.

"Okay! Great! I'll see you then, then. then." I gave her cash, and waited for the change. her chewed but still lovely fingernails caressed my palm, leaving a little red mark of love as dropped pennies into it- exactly four.

I had about three days to kill before the big date. I drove by her house about a thousand times, noting when her lights were on, or off, or if the T.V. was flickering behind the half-closed curtains. I made sure the restaurant was going to be open, and that I wouldn't need reservations. I researched the menu. I bought the gum Doris liked to chew. I got my car tuned up. I even cleaned my little apartment, top to bottom- just in case.

It was Friday at last and I was so anxious I thought I might shake myself right out of my shoes. I don't know how, but five o'clock arrived. I watched T.V, the commercials were too long and the sitcoms- "Rosanne" and "Nell" reruns- were insipid. Six o'clock happened. I brushed my teeth again, recombed my hair. Made sure there was nothing in my nose. I checked the corsage I had gotten for her, for Doris, my sweet, large, lovely, Doris! The corsage was fine. Somehow it was seven. and I couldn't wait any longer. I got in my car and drove over to her place.

Half-way there, I realized she hadn't actually told me where she lived. Would she think I was a pervert, some kind of weirdo? Would she figure out I'd followed her? I panicked and at a light I stalled the car. My hands were so fluttery I couldn't get the key to turn, and then I dropped the keys on the floor. Cars were honking at me. My foot was on the keys and I couldn't get them out. Finally I sat up in exhaustion, sweat rolling down the side of my face. I looked over, and there, walking hand in hand, was a couple, the man tall, his girlfriend wide. They had chocolate smears on their faces, but they didn't care. They were obviously in love, and sharing a Three-Musketeers bar. I immediately calmed down. I got my keys, started my car, and drove on.

I was very early when I arrived, so I decided to slip up to my favorite window and take a peek. There she was. My Doris. She was still wearing her supermarket shirt, and the shorts with the charming little soy-sauce stain on the rear pocket. I couldn't see the stain, but I recognized the shorts- had she worn the soy on them, in anticipation of our oriental rendezvous? Of course she had! And she was watching Roseanne, too! Not a rerun, but the prime-time. There amongst the pizza boxes, the T.V. dinner foils, the doritos bags, and the ben & jerry's ice cream cartons was her T.V. guide, and although I couldn't see what day it was on, I was almost certain that it wasn't this one- her choice of Roseanne was pure karma, kismet, ka, if you will. I bit my lip. Egad!

She reached up, gracefully, to scratch her forehead, something she sometimes does at the supermarket, but this time she didn't scratch- she took off her wig! Amazing! I had no idea! She was so gifted, I had never even suspected that she had worn a wig. The skin on her scalp was shiny and pink, with a few curly fine hairs, blond ones, floating above it. Then she put another wig on, this one different- a little more curly. I was overcome. She'd changed her hair, for me!!! Oh, I could've bought and sold the world for her right there and then.

And then, like sugar on top of the icing that's already on the cake, she stood up, walked towards her bathroom, and took off her shirt!!!And then, she took off her bra!!! I could see the red marks on her shoulders, where the bra-straps had dug in. Oh, how I wanted to rub those meaty shoulders, those broad, beautiful shoulders, to massage her weary skin until she was revitalized, refreshened. With her back to me, she bent over- oh those shorts, oh that soy-stain!- and picked up a blouse, and put it on, then turned around. I almost cracked my head on the window sill from ducking, but before I did, I saw the side of one of her breasts, as they lay beneath her shirt. I ran back to my car furtively, and checked the clock on the radio- it was 7:45. Maybe now was a good time. Or was it? Fashionably early- was there such a thing? Maybe we could sit and chat for a few minutes, maybe she would offer me a drink. I began to sweat profusely- what if we never made it out of her house?

I knocked on her door, corsage in my hand, and then noticed the bell- should I ring it anyway? Had she heard me? I was pointing my stiff index finger towards the button slowly when she ripped open the door. Her face was blank, unexpressive, neither smiling nor frowning, her lips just sort of hanging there, like ripened grapes begging to be plucked by my own. I said, "Hi."

"Let's go," she said, and grabbed her purse. So eager!

I led her out to my car, and opened the door for her. She ducked her head, and the top of her back scraped against the top of the door as she wedged herself in. Her legs were bunched beneath the dashboard. I cursed myself for not remembering to push the seat back before getting out. My legs aren't long, and the seat on a '76 Chevy Chevelle goes up and back as one- but I would gladly stretch for her comfort! Finally she managed to get in, and I shut the door gently, so I wouldn't bruise her alabaster arms. They looked so fetching, pressed against the window when the door was closed.

I ran around to the other side, opened my own door, and just then noticed I was still holding the corsage. Heavens to mergatroid. I got in and held it out to her. "For you." But damn my eyes, she was too cramped to notice. I set the corsage down and got in, and moved the seat back as far as it would go. I couldn't reach the peddles, but at least now she was almost normal. Thank God the restaurant I had chosen was nearby. Damn! I should have rented a van!

At one of the stoplights I popped in my Neil Diamond eight track. I'd gotten a red, white, and blue corsage, and made sure the eight track was cued to play "America." Then I noticed the blouse she was wearing was mostly white, with some red and blue on it. Incredible! "That's a nice blouse," I said, "goes with your corsage."

"How about that." Her handbag was squashed between her chest and the dashboard, and she gazed out the window, probably to cool her reddened, flushed cheeks against the glass!

We arrived at the restaurant, and I opened her door, because she couldn't reach the handle, and because I was a gentleman. To the receptionist I said, "Party of two," and she seated us in the non-smoking section, just like I'd asked her to do a few days before when I had talked to her. Doris wiggled in her chair for a few minutes, and when the waitress approached, she said, "buffet for me." Then she hopped up and she was gone.

I laughed. "Buffet for me too! And two glasses of red wine, please." The waitress smiled and walked away. I went over to the smorgasbord.

Doris was halfway along it and it was all I could do to catch up. Good thing I'm a picky eater! I skipped many of the steaming trays, whereas she took heaps from each one. Her plate looked heavy and delicious. What a connoisseur! I followed her back to our table- but there were no chopsticks! I specifically asked for chopsticks when I was in before. Doris didn't bother waiting; I don't blame her. She tucked in with fork and spoon, and to show her I was a good sport, and not some worry-wart, I used those utensils, too.

I wanted to offer her something from my plate, like, "Try some of this Kung Pao," or maybe, "What do you think of this Low-Mein?" But she already had everything I had anyway. So I just watched her. She was awesome. The blur between her plate and her fork and her spoon and her mouth never stopped once, not even when a piece of noodle fell and stuck to her wart. It was like she was born for me, and I was born for her. I wondered what sort of humungous and dangerous task God had in store for me, to receive such pleasure!

I talked to her about things, like my family, my job, my hobbies, television, the news. She listened to every word I said attentively, except for those moments when she jumped up to get another plate. Well, I was nervous, but somehow quite at ease with my perfect little Doris, and I managed to eat two whole plates myself.

And I could tell there was more in store for me than just a little kiss on the cheek at the door. Two things told me so. When she got her dessert, she asked me if I liked Jell-O! She wanted to share the delights of her favorite dessert with me! I told her that I didn't, that I was full to bursting (even Pringles might have been a challenge!) and she said, "There's always room for Jell-O."

Always room for Jell-O! She was a wit as well as a stunning beauty! Could she be any more perfect? I willingly went and got some, and took a bite. I felt my gorge rise at the pectin and gelatin and strawberry mixture, but one look into her face, where the grease from the egg rolls moistened her lips and beckoned, where the noodles from Low-Mein on her chin sat and smiled, and I knew I could keep it down. For that face, I could've eaten anything!

We got our fortune cookies, and while we waited for the check, Doris searched in her purse, up to her elbows, and pulled forth cigarettes. Damn my lusty gazes- all those times at her window, I'd never seen any ashtrays! I'd gotten us seated in the wrong section.

Well, it wasn't too busy, and I'd gladly cold-cock the first jerk to complain. They could withstand a few micrograms of carbon monoxide for the sake of Eros! I cracked open my fortune cookie, and read, "You will encounter but win big things." Over the small slip of paper and blue print I looked at her, and could only inhale deeply with satisfaction as she looked towards the door. I coughed a little bit from the smoke and my heavy breathing, and I accidentally spat a piece of fortune cookie onto her blouse. But no matter.

Then.

A man walked over to our table, and leaning over my Doris, said, "Excuse me, Miss, but this is the non-smoking section. Would you mind?" I was shocked. Doris made a disgusted face, and started to stub out her cigarette. But I stopped her.

"Who do you think you are, you four-eyed little weasel?" I shouted, standing up, throwing my napkin at him. "You can't just accost innocent women in restaurants to satisfy your selfish whining!"

He looked back at me. "Listen, pal, this is the-

"I don't give a good God-damn what this is. If the lady wants to smoke, she smokes!" I glanced at Doris. "Go ahead, darling, it's okay."

"No it's not," he said. He was really starting to piss me off, and then! He actually reached towards her hand to take the cig!

That was too much! I pushed him, violently. "You pig! Keep your hands off of her!"

He came in low, and caught me around the waist. Thank God, we missed Doris as I fell. I pounded on his back until he let go, and when he stood up I grabbed his leg and bit his shin. He tried to kick me with his other foot, but lost his balance and fell against the table, dragging the table cloth and dishes covered with noodles and vegetables and soy sauced meat on top of us. I rolled on top of him, and tried to throw a punch, but it hit his forearm and he bucked me off. Then I felt a hand on my back.

We were thrown outside, and sure, he got the better part of me. The doctor says my jaw will heal in about four (four!) weeks. I would've gladly let the man rip my jaw completely from my head, if it meant protecting the honor of Doris. I'm at her house right now, and once a day she grinds up Pringles for me in the blender, and mixes them with a little milk so I can get them through the straw. But that's just one of the many things she does for me, her man. And she's my woman! My Doris. When I get this brace off, and my jaw unwired, I think the first thing I'm going to do is ask her to marry me. I'm pretty sure she'll say yes. She hasn't refused me anything so far!