Nice Meating You

They met during the permanent press cycle at the laundromat. She was a recent veterinary school graduate attempting to establish a practice in her newly adopted town. He was a middle age bachelor looking for a wife. 

He had long ago given up on finding a bride with good looks, family money, a late model sports car and a marvelous sense of humor. Now, he’d settle for anyone with their drinking problem under control who changed clothes regularly.

            Not that Sandy was in this category. Not at all. In fact, Sandy was the girl of his dreams. One look at her and Jock was already naming their kids.  

They made small talk as they folded clothes, and finally Jock got up enough nerve to ask her to dinner. She took one look at Jock, saw a moderately muscular, clean looking guy with a nice smile and said, “Why not?”

            Her first date in the new town also turned out to be her first house call. Jock had invited her over to his house for a nice quiet dinner. 

Jock’s house was nothing like she had imagined it would be. Instead of athletic posters on the wall, there was one that urged, “Save the Sperm Whale.” Instead of a television and a stereo, there was a mood synthesizer.

 Even Jock himself had undergone a complete transformation. Gone was the athletic looking guy she’d met at the laundromat. Jock was now dressed in a long fuzzy sweater and no shoes. Both the sweater and his hair had leaves in them. Dogwood, I think. Jock had transformed himself into Jacques.

            “I sure hope you like these un-tuna sandwiches I made,” said Jacques. “I assure you no dolphins were caught in nets, and they contain no preservatives or food additives.”

 “Won’t you have some brown rice with bouillabaisse sauce? Those little tofu things are simply scrumptious,” he said, pointing to a plate of cute little sandwiches without the crust. 

            “But aren’t you worried about stunting your growth or impairing your brain development eating that stuff?” asked Sandy. 

            “Oh, no. I’m surprised you’d say something like that Sandy, you being a doctor. Like I always say, ‘Eat wheat, not meat.’ Here, have some organically grown grapes. They were picked with non-union labor you know.” 

             About this time, Jacques’ pet entered the room. A black Labrador with a red bandana tied around his neck. 

“That is a lovely biodegradable perfume you are wearing,” said Jacques. “I do hope no animals were tortured in testing it.”

            Sandy was beginning to wonder about her wisdom in accepting this invitation. 

“Tell me Jacques, what are your interests?” 

            “I am currently into solar heating, synchronized ballet, animal rights and zen. How about you? What did you do today?”

            Sandy took a No-Doz® and replied, “I spent most of the day pregnancy checking.” To which Jacques choked on his un-tuna sandwich. “And I had to go to the lab and run a test. Thankfully it was benign.”

            “Oh, I know what you mean. I have a nephew who’ll ‘be nine’ next year, and I just dread it. At that age they think they know everything” said Jacques.

             Sandy looked at Jacques like he had just caught the last bus out of the commune. “And right before I came over here, I checked out a cataract.”

             “Oh that’s a nice car but much to bourgeoisie for me, of course. Here have some more tofu.”

            “No thank you,” said Sandy heading for the door. “I’ve had enough of your meatless meal.”

             “But I thought you said you were a vegetarian,” said Jacques.

             “I said I was a veterinarian, not a vegetarian!”