Lady In The Park
As I walk the pathways adorning this beautiful island of country, almost right in the center of center city Philadelphia, I see you, sitting on a park bench, reading, oblivious to the people around you. You haven’t noticed me. But I have you, bathed in golden rays of light from heaven. You attract me more than anyone here. I know, because I’ve spent the last hour scanning the park, looking for someone like you to meet. The golden rays illuminate no one else as brightly as you. I struggle to look away, grabbing the book in my backpack for distraction. But my curiosity stills my arm. I don’t care about the book. I want to see more of you. Your hair shines so, your skin is so delicate and fair, your fingers are so long and gentle. I really shouldn’t stare. Why has heaven’s projectionist picked you to light up? If she hadn’t, I’d have never felt your beauty. But you still don’t know I’m here, thank goodness. Yet my heart is already melting for you. What is it in you that turns my head? Is it just me? Am I the only one who sees the gold rays? Other guys scurry about, riding bikes, roller blading, and chatting with friends. They see you too, but appear unimpressed, apparently blind to the rays that I see so clearly. Why do you affect me this way? Does it really matter? No. I don’t care why. You just do, and that’s good enough for me.
Oh look. Another lady just joined you on the bench. She’s tall, thin, and has your hair color, fair skin, and eyes. Her fingers are long and slender, like yours. She wears blue jeans and a Lands End jacket like you. You could be identical twins. Yet she’s different somehow, though I don’t see exactly how. She’s not on heaven’s stage today; no rays of golden light touch her. All of your best features she has too. Yet she’s plain somehow, somehow dark. The physical features alone seem insufficient to attract the golden rays. Otherwise, I’d be fascinated by the both of you. But since only you engross me, there must be more to it than just looks, something I do not control. Neither do you apparently. Neither does she. She does nothing for me. But you do everything. Curious that your look-alike is so run-of-the-mill while you are so stunning. Why does the projectionist spotlight you? You’re not trying to impress me. Neither is she. Yet you dazzle while your “twin” bores.
Wait. I hear footsteps behind me, steadily slowing in rhythm until stopping cold. I look, and there’s a man leaning against a lamppost. The footfalls belonged to him. He doesn’t notice you, but is taken with your look-alike. Apparently, he sees heavenly light on her while I do not, just as I see it on you while he does not. He seems, like me, to be looking for romance. He must enjoy reading, because his backpack brims with books and papers. Lots of readers in the park today. He’s even got a tape recorder, like the one I carry for note taking. Maybe he writes for a living. He and I might be twins. Interesting, isn’t it, how two similar guys (he and I) see two similar women (the two of you) so differently. To me you’re the goddess and she is the plain-Jane. But to him, she’s the goddess and you are the plain-Jane. He appears flushed and flustered watching your look-alike. I feel flushed and flustered, watching you.
At one time, I felt sorry for people like your double. As a young adult I thought all men saw the golden rays of attraction shining on the same few women and that there was indeed a universal beauty standard. If I deemed a lady unattractive, she’d be unappealing to every guy. “Without the rays,” I thought, “she’ll never attract a loving partner, condemned to spinsterhood, alone forever.” This gloom-and-doom prediction by the inexperienced me in my late twenties, saddened me and drove me toward these dark ladies and away from my dream girls. I wanted to be a hero, to rescue one of these “unfortunate souls,” to ease her loneliness, to short-circuit fate, to defy heaven’s projectionist who refused to shine the light on her. I’d known the pains of loneliness for decades myself and couldn’t bare the thought of these plain women, consigned to plights like mine. Doing good by them became my mission. I had no choice then but to pick the dark ladies because my fear prevented me from reaching for the women in the gold light. I dreaded appearing selfish. So I dated six unattractive ladies throughout the ‘90s as I ran from my fear, among the saddest years of my life.
But with no rays to fire my interest in dating the dark ladies, I faltered. My resolve to love them flickered like a sputtering candle in the rain. I wanted to love them sincerely, but could not, for I was not being honest with me. As each romance-less relationship blossomed, its darkness enveloped me, just as blackness shrouds a car driving into an unlit tunnel at noon. I felt ashamed, even though my purpose was noble. I longed for the golden light, begging heaven to bless my average lovers with it and transform them from the plain-Janes they were, into goddesses. “Please, make me love her as she does me!” I cried. “I want to return her love. I’ve wanted someone to love me like this all my life. Now here she is. But I can’t love her because I feel no chemistry, no passion. I can’t love her in the dark. So please, make me feel these things! Shine that magical golden light.” But heaven didn’t listen. The ladies stayed murky, ordinary, unattractive, and sometimes, just plain ugly.
Then, in desperation, I renounced my need for the light, ignored it, called myself shallow for having it, and pushed it away, just as a recovering alcoholic swears off of the booze. I couldn’t bare hurting the dark ladies by leaving them because they loved me in every way that mattered. Their kindness was boundless. They did, and did, and did for me, repeatedly asking if they could do more, fully accepting and embracing me as I was. One even wanted marriage. I told myself repeatedly that I ought to be happy with their gifts and give up searching for greener pastures. What did it matter that I felt no passion, lust, or romance for them? I could still love them by willing myself to do kind things for them. We built deep, valuable friendships, doing for each other. The dark ladies made my life more convenient and less lonely because their hearts were so big and warm, glowing with the same cozy luster of security and familiarity that you’d feel sitting near a gently burning fireplace in your living room. But this light, though warm and secure, could not replace the golden rays of light from heaven. No matter how hard they stoked that home fire, no matter how much the dark ladies did for me, even in spite of all the good things I learned about them, they could not supply what heaven denied. Unfortunately, every dark lady remained shrouded in pitch black plainness, no matter how selfless, no matter how good. I couldn’t leave them, my fear and sense of “doing the right thing” imprisoning me.
Appealing ladies attracted me during my crusade to rescue the dark ones from spinsterhood. One day, one dim woman dined with me at a mall restaurant. As we ate, a goddess of a lady lingered for a moment near our table. She was as endowed as you, the lady in the park. I looked at her, then at my date, feeling trapped and regretful. My companion caught me gawking and grew angry. “You’re supposed to be with me,” she said. “Why are you flirting with her?” We’d argued about this before. So by this time, I had no answer but the truth. “I’m very sorry,” I offered. “But I’m just not attracted to you. I wanted to make our relationship work, to somehow come to see you as I see this stranger beside us. You deserve that, as you’ve been so nice and caring. I know via your loving kindness and admission, that you’re attracted to me. In fact, you’ve shown me that others as loving as my grandmother — the kindest woman I ever knew — do indeed exist. The great way you treat me is not the problem for it could be no better. But it’s just not enough. Kind acts alone do not win my heart. Neither does my knowing that you love me. I wish it did. But it doesn’t. I don’t know how to transfer the golden rays from this lady to you. I tried for six months to ignite passion for you in my heart, to give you what you feel for me. I checked out hypnosis, meditation, prayer, and ten self-help books on love. We even read one together. Remember? But I learned from all that, that I just can’t force myself to fall for you. My passions cannot be turned on and off by a switch. If they could, I’d activate them for you in a heartbeat, giving up my quest for beautiful strangers forever. I want to love you more than anything. But I can’t go on experimenting, seeking ways to start romance going, hurting you all the while when it won’t go. It’s just not right.”
Obviously, this date was our last, and I realized that a woman’s acts of love neither replace nor create the missing golden rays. Passion is crucial to the success of any long-term relationship for me. Without it, it ‘s just too easy to be lured away from a dark lady by someone brighter. Thus, I owe it to ladies and myself, to assure that the golden rays accompany anyone I date, to minimize my impulses to stray. I owe it to all to defeat this fear.
I’ve watched you for a minute now. But you still haven’t seen me. I want to talk but am afraid. By god, what’s wrong with me? Why am I so drawn to you, the stranger in the light? It’s not the thought of how well you might treat me that’s exciting. As I said, the dark ladies treated me nice. You might tie, but never beat them. You couldn’t love me more deeply than they did. They proved their love time after time, and I knew them all well. You on the other hand, have proved nothing, and I don’t know you at all. You might have a mean streak in fact. But I don’t care. I want you. Why couldn’t I have wanted them? What compelled me to give up the security the six dark ladies offered, and come to this park, again and again, alone, looking for someone like you? Why did I end those safe relationships, becoming lonely and uncertain again, six times? The answer is clear.
I must feel the allure which those heavenly golden rays stimulate. Romance will not flourish without them. And without romance, there is no good reason to stay with a lover through thick and thin. Romance is the tie that binds lovers together the most securely. It’s not just deep friendship though deep friendship can be very nice in lots of ways. But it offers no fantasy, no anticipation of the next time together, no longing for a kiss, virtually no excitement at all. In the dark, sheer willpower fuels the acts of love, not passion. In the light though, I need less willpower to be just as loving. Passion provides the endless supply of energy for loving. Acts of will become acts of passion. It’s natural and energizing to show kindness and generosity to the woman in the light. Sex is wondrous; never the same each time, but tremendously fulfilling. It’s a chore however, and quite depleting to do it in the dark where it becomes mechanical and tedious. All that said, I know I must stand with my lady in this great golden energy that’s beyond our control. Only if we’re there together can I realize my greatest happiness potential. I must see the rays engulf her, and know that she sees them engulf me. So no more dating dark ladies. My fear however won’t let me date anyone but a dark lady. What can I do?
You look up from your reading quizzically as I walk toward you. That fear of making first contact with an interesting lady screams its familiar refrain, wanting me to leave, not caring that you may embody my future happiness, that you could mean the end of this decades-long struggle to find tranquility in the arms of one, very special woman. The fear acts as a spoiled kid who doesn’t want to get his first haircut because the scissors scare him. He cries and yammers, kicks and punches. The brat. Well he won’t get his way this time. I will talk to you, whether he wants to or not. Hmmmmm. Do you see the golden rays of light on me? If I knew you did, he would shut up. How much a smile from you could do, to strengthen my confidence. But all you do is watch. My anxiety heightens.
“Oh no,” the fear yells in my head. “She doesn’t like you. Get out of here. Now!”
I reply, “You know, your endless restrictions tire me. Why must you know that she likes me before we approach? Even if she doesn’t, her jeers won’t hurt. Nor will our approach hurt her. Inconvenience her, maybe. Irritate her, perhaps. But hurt her? No. Calm down. I’m breaking no laws by inviting her to meet me. We’re in public. I have neither cornered nor chased her down. She can always leave if frightened. Nonetheless, I have a right to pursue any woman until she says to stop. This one has said nothing so far. The constitution authorizes me to make her this offer, whether she likes it or not. She’ll see that I’m harmless once we start talking. If not, then I’ll just write her off as ‘too paranoid,’ and find someone else. Rejection is no big deal. Not nearly the big deal that you’re making it into.
“At this point, what she thinks is irrelevant, and should be ignored when deciding whether to greet her. Now she may see golden rays on me. Or not. If she does, we’d know in a minute, and in an hour, enjoy a coffee at the bookstore across the street together. But if not, I’d move on — not totally fulfilled, but happy nonetheless for having successfully made the effort — looking elsewhere for true love. The consequences of her rejection aren’t that bad. What on earth are you protecting me from? You act like I’m going to die if brushed off, and that it’s not worth the risk to even try. But you’re mistaken. The truth is, I am risking but a trifle of humiliation should she say ‘No.’ True, she’s not smiling, but neither is she scowling. So I’d still like to proceed. Stand aside please.”
“No!” he retorts, pushing me back hard. My legs jerk into motion, carrying me away from you. He continues, “She’ll laugh at your theories about this golden light, as I do. What you describe as a heavenly force calling you toward her, she’ll interpret as merely as simple libido. She’ll write you off as another hormonal park bum, without scruples, without intelligence, and with no class. She won’t appreciate your insights about the light, and that only within it, can supreme romantic happiness exist. She won’t know your history of compromise when you dated the dark ladies, and won’t get how you hurt the dark ladies as you struggled to write off the light as a crucial building block in romance. If I let you greet her, she’ll be appalled at your wish to meet her. She’ll wonder how, without ever having seen her before, you could know that you’d like to get acquainted. To her, your interest would be trite, cheap, temporary, dirty, shameful, impulsive, unfounded, desperate, threatening, and disgusting. She’ll reject you. Listen to me! Don’t do this. Go find another dark lady who won’t hurt you as this woman in the light can.
“You see your ability to reach out in spite of me (your fear), as your greatest triumph in wisdom, wisdom acquired through dating both dark and light ladies over more than two decades. Experience taught you that humans can alter just a small number of all the variables that regulate romantic feeling. They change their hair but not their height. They force themselves to behave differently, but can’t easily change their desires. Even if a love who does not love back, promises he will if they change, he cannot guarantee this. And usually, he won’t keep up his end of the bargain, even if she changes for him. You realize that how she sees you has less to do with the variables you control (cleanliness, politeness, gentility, manners, choice of dress, choice of car, choice of career et al), and more to do with uncontrollable factors (what she likes, how she was raised, her genetics, your genetics, how you were raised, your moods, and hundreds of others). You know therefore, that the golden rays are not whimsical, impulsive passions. But she will see them otherwise. She’ll only consider the time between when you first saw her, and when you started talking. Since that’s only a few seconds at this point, she’ll conclude that whatever your motivation, it couldn’t be anything worth her attention, and must be lust only.“ The fear fell silent.
“Now hold on!” I scolded, turning myself toward you again. You must think I’m doing some sort of rain dance to impress you. But I’m just fighting with my fear, and a bit wobbly on my feet right now. So bare with me. We’ll resolve this shortly. “My Fear,” I say silently, “the golden rays are my mind’s way of quickly telling that here might sit my dream girl. She could make me very happy if I say hello. So what will it hurt to greet her, huh?
“My tastes, though some women think them superficial, formed over a quarter century of trial and error. I came to spot desirable qualities at a glance, and to move on if they not immediately obvious. I know what compromises I can and cannot make, what excites me romantically and what I’d best leave be. I cannot change my dream girl preferences, and don’t want to try anymore. As you know, while you barred me from the gold light, I attempted to change my preferences for women while dating the dark ladies. I spent thousands of dollars in therapy in an effort get control of the rays and aim them at whoever I chose. But as I said, it never worked. For me, coming to see someone as attractive who just wasn’t attractive to me proved unsuccessful. Try convincing yourself, if you’re a life-long beef lover, that you’d rather eat seaweed. True, you could make the intellectual choice to eat seaweed over steak. But could you remove your mouth watering delight from steak, your body’s automatic response to its scent, reconditioning your mind so that you had the same response to seaweed? Perhaps you could after months of conditioning or after a life-altering experience — like visiting a slaughterhouse. But for all practical purposes, probably not. Yes, experiments show that reconditioning is possible in mammals, but is rarely achieved without great (and often prohibitive) effort. Pavlov demonstrated ability to condition dogs to salivate at the sound of a bell. Then he de conditioned them so that their mouths did not water when the bell rang. He used a rigorously controlled environment, regulating everything the dogs experienced, to get his results. But we humans generally cannot alter our learned responses as effectively as Pavlov altered his dogs’, as similar controlled environments are hard to secure for human conditioning. Primarily, we are creatures of habit. Pavlov dedicated his life to study how to do this. But most of us aren’t willing to invest so much. I am not. And after repeated failures to alter my preferences, I’ve come to the conviction that, I am what I am. I accept myself for who I am and what I like. I’m okay. I like steak, and I like the ladies I like. Just as steak starts the mouth watering the instant I perceive it, so does a gorgeous woman weaken the knees the minute I see her. Nothing trivial about this in spite of its quick appearance. Nothing more complicated about it either. It’s very complicated, yet very simple.
“Though females may judge me as another morally decrepit guy who wants only sex, they’re wrong. I want much more. Interesting how they reject me out of hand, before they know what I want. Yet some accuse me of doing the same ‘shallow’ thing, by, as they put it, placing too much importance on their looks, and not enough on their thoughts, ruling them out before I know them. They’re right about me ruling unattractive ones out fast. If the golden rays don’t shine within seconds of seeing a new woman, I look elsewhere. But their argument is flawed considering that the rays are based on much more than simply the woman’s visual form. It considers her health, scent, genetics, mannerisms, and behaviors also. Yet I am often convicted for approaching her on a whim, with no honorable reason. So if we must lay guilt on either sex for making quick judgments, both share it. My choice to ask ladies’ permission to meet them, and burry you my fear, results from years of thought, discovery, and practice. While I won’t deny desiring sex eventually, I’d like a close friend as well, to proofread my writing, have breakfast with, enjoy an afternoon stroll in the park with, and so on. Why has the desire for intimacy in males become so shunned by females? It’s crazy to be ashamed of my needs. I can’t change them. So the threat of this shame is irrational and a faulty basis for you, my fear, to bar me from this woman. Now stand aside.” I take another step toward you.
“Be still,” my fear snapped, paralyzing my legs again. “Listen. Ladies feel that the earlier that men show interest, the shorter-lived it will be. They dismiss rapid intrigue as weak and dangerous, and thus, avoid opening themselves. They fear that he’ll just disappear tomorrow, off to find somebody better. ‘If it happens too fast, it’s worthless,’ they reason. ‘The quicker he comes, the quicker he’ll go.’ Attempting an abrupt entrance into her heart therefore, virtually guarantees that you’ll turn her off forever. So, by approaching the lady here today, you’d be shooting yourself in the foot. She’ll never agree to chat, and reject you forever if you try. So why humiliate yourself? Most people take weeks after the first meeting to communicate romantic feelings. But you want to do it in a few minutes. Do you think you’re God, that you can succeed while breaking the rules like this? Well, you won’t. Further, people don’t introduce themselves to another for the sole purpose of romance. Yet this is precisely what you propose. Why do you want to buck the social norms, Tom? These golden rays of yours are nothing more profound or lasting than a sex thirst. Appreciate my wisdom and give it up. Let’s leave. Now.“
“No.“ I retorted. “While you were ranting, I considered how I’d react, sitting on a park bench reading, and a pretty woman asked to meet me. I’d be thrilled beyond belief! I’d invite her to join me, and wouldn’t reject her just because her interest came quickly. In fact, I’d congratulate her on her self-awareness for knowing what she likes and gong after it, and find her interest flattering. Her approach would brighten my week, though I’d be cautious, mind you, and avoid going anywhere alone with her until we knew each other better. Sure I’d be careful. But I wouldn’t deny her request due to her possibly dishonorable intensions. Nor would I judge her badly for her impulsiveness, but instead, respect her for her courage.
“If the golden rays accompanied her, I’d tease her for taking so long to find me, rather than ridicule her for moving too fast. I can’t imagine rejecting this attractive stranger due to her direct approach, especially if all she said was, ‘Hi, I noticed you a moment ago and wondered if I might meet you?’ It’s not like she asked me for my first born son. I’d be a fool to condemn her at this point based on the sketchy data I have so far.
“But, if a dark lady appeared, I’d reject her at once, leaving if she didn’t. Are women so different? Do you suggest that if a lady found me striking, that she’d still reject me because I desired her romantically? Would she worry so much about her safety that she’d push me away without learning more first? I don’t think so, at least not because she thought I was moving too fast. In fact, the only two reasons I’m aware of that would compel her to blow me off are that either:
1. She’s happily involved or otherwise emotionally unavailable.
2. She sees me as a dark man, finding me unattractive, plain, ugly, or repulsive.
“I can’t change number one and probably can’t change number two either, since because we’re strangers, I wouldn’t know what attracts her, and couldn’t alter my appearance and other qualities to raise her esteem. I know this to be a futile exercise anyhow, and have decided that it’s not worth attempting such a major make-over. Rewards of such efforts generally do not follow. Thus, I likely cannot effect her judgment in number two before introducing myself. So, since I have little control over whether she sees gold light on me, I accept that I cannot maneuver her into feeling romantic passion for me. Thus, rationally, I can’t shame myself if she doesn’t.
“Understand, my fear, that I am not out to make her like me and so, cannot succeed or fail in this effort. Thus there will be no failure here to protect me from. My mission, pure and simple, is to discover if she likes me as fast as I can, by dodging the small talk and just asking. Once she says yes, then we’ll small talk, build trust, create memories, and so on. But until then, small talk just gets in the way, confusing each person about the other’s intensions. In line with the golden rays philosophy, I accept that if there’s a chance that she’ll like me, she will, immediately, and not require months of just being romance-less friends to figure it out. I dispute the widely-held belief that the longer two people are ‘just friends’ the more long-lived the romance will be should it start. Moving slowly does not increase the odds of success any more than moving quickly decreases them. So, yes, you’re right. I am at odds with the societal norms here. But hey, so be it.
“If I was female, I’d wonder more about men who take too long to say they like me, than those who admit it up front. In this scenario, the hare beats the turtle because open communication from the start conveys honesty, forthrightness, confidence, and expressive ability. It shows that the man is secure in himself, knows what he wants, and is willing to seek it with conviction. In the golden rays model of relationship initiation, there is no room for pretense to taint the romance, not to mention there being less frustration.
“No, I’m not taking any god-like liberties by using this quick approach technique. I agree with you that normally, unless we’re considering a dating service or social function specifically geared to enable people to connect in a low-anxiety environment, people do not invite strangers to enter a romantic relationship. But why not? Why are romantic intensions any less valid than, say, professional ones? The only reason they seem so, my fear, is because of you! You shame people for trying, just as you have me, paying me half a lifetime of lonely heartache. I could throttle you when I recall the activities I did but really didn’t want to. You remember the churches we joined and the singles groups, the dance clubs, and the like? I followed you to one boring activity after another for years, sometimes committing months to each organization. You promised that you’d allow me to approach women in those venues if I got to know the ladies first as friends. You assured me that if I waited for friendship, I’d get less rejection when requesting romantic involvement. You philosophy was that it’s much easier to get romance from friends than strangers. But it never worked out that way. Ladies I’d known for two years before asking them out, became horrified: their periodic phone calls stopped, and our friendship abruptly ended, never progressing to romance. You broke your promise repeatedly, wasting my time, and bruising my heart. I question your ‘wisdom’ here.“
“Go on,” my fear beckoned. My stomach relaxed as my heart slowed to near-normal tempo. “Tell me more. I don’t agree with everything you said. But you may be onto something here.”
“The population at large wants fulfilling romantic relationships as I do. Building one is my top priority. Just look at how often you hear someone on TV looking for the love of their life. Chances are, this lady in the park longs for the same assuming she’s not already taken. The health benefits of romance are undeniable. Studies say that those in love live longer than those alone. Many need to get and receive love to be truly happy. Given that, I can’t imagine a woman of similar temperament turning me away just because I omitted the small talk and asked to make her acquaintance up front.
Experience indeed suggests that the odds of her rejecting me, approach one-hundred percent. But dismal odds don’t scare me anymore. If you think about it, almost anything spectacular was accomplished, against the odds. Audiences world-wide revere Olympic athletes because of their passion for achieving, Though the odds say that a competitor won’t break any records, he keeps trying, sometimes for decades. Occasionally he does set new records, and the crowd loves it. Our society rewards those who stand out by making success out of what most others would not, who defy the long odds, winning despite them. The odds don’t determine your success potential as much as the conviction you hold, that you can succeed no matter how low they are.“
A cool, relaxed feeling floods my mid section. The anxiety I felt when I first saw you is gone. Now, I’m drawn to you, and feel confident that I can ask if you want to meet me. “Okay,” my fear said. “Talk to her. I’ll shut up for now.” So, I again pace toward you as you watch. “Excuse me,” I politely chime. “I just noticed you and wondered if I could meet you. Care to talk for a minute?” Uh oh. What’s wrong? Your face, expressionless up to now, just turned mean and defiant.
“No, that’s quite alright,” you said curtly, shutting your book, slinging your purse over your shoulder, and high-tailing it out of there as though I’d just threatened to kill you. Bye.
Darn, another rejection. No matter though. I’m still here, my heart still pumps, my lungs still breathe. I am still the person I was before, perhaps a bit smarter. “There, my fear, you see? That wasn’t so bad.”
“No. But you still got rejected,” he taunted.
“So?” I challenged. “Rejection doesn’t hurt us. There is no shame in a turn-down. Avoiding rejection can be more harmful than the rejection itself because this attitude renders us powerless to live our dreams. My fear, I gave you too much power to thwart me in young adulthood, by seeking desperately to hide from rejection. I measured my worthiness of success by how many rejections I got. The more I got, the less worthy I felt, the more ashamed I was, and the stronger you became, increasing the difficulty to approach the golden ladies. I bet you loved that, didn’t you? I did not understand that the path to fulfillment does not go around rejection, but instead, goes right through it.
“You claim that you’re looking out for me when you paralyze me so I can’t meet strangers in the park. But I don’t need your protection anymore. As a teenager, the agonies of hurt feelings when a pretty girl told me to get lost were intense, sometimes smarting for months. But I am grown now. I’m still calm even though the stranger in the park ran from me. I’m not broken up. My skin is thicker these days. So rejection hurts as a man, far less than it did as an adolescent. At one time, when I was much more sensitive, your strong hand was necessary. But you need not continue guarding me. I am fine. Now, let’s go find another lady to approach. “
