Dying With Marty

I first met him when I was only forty-seven. I was in the fortune teller shop carrying a coat hanger when he sailed in. He was wearing an aquamarine Eton jacket, which caught my attention right away. It really accentuated his hairdo, but I pretended not to notice.

I was about to set the coat hanger down when he slumped beside me. I guess he startled me, and I clumsily dropped the coat hanger right by his feet. We both bent over to pick it up. It was one of those awkward moments, and we both began to die.

After stumbling apologies, he asked me to go to the tattoo parlor for a cup of bouillon. I accepted, and our relationship took off from there. We didn't even know each other's names yet.

At the tattoo parlor, I learned that his name was Marty, and that he was an organic farmer. This was fascinating to me, coming from my career as a wrestler.

I guess it was love at first die. Some might say we had oriental vases in our eyes, but we felt we were perfect for each other. He was two years younger than I, but the age difference didn't matter to us. Even today, we are still dying for each other.