The Real Love Stories... and Why There Really Are No Blurred Lines
It was the music pumping through the speakers at the optometrist's that made me see you clear for who you are. The lyrics kept thrumming loud when I was standing there with my thick glasses, waiting for the receptionist. Waiting there with the Mennonite woman in her netted white bonnet and purple flowers falling down the cotton front of her cape dress. And Robin Thicke just keeps crooning it on some radio station like he's Marvin Gaye, like he knows the wants of women. And I'm sitting beside a Mennonite woman, us both bespectacled and motherly rounded, and I shift awkward in my chair when the song hits it grinding refrain, and there are men like you who know a woman wants a love that respects. There are men who wear old Wranglers and drive rusting mini-vans to pick up the kids after piano lessons. And pick up broccoli because it's on sale this week. And who stop those matronly vans to pick a bunch of the wild Black-eyed Susans growing in the