Lema, O Lemaperu!

I haven't even seen her yet, that I know of, but I'm so very much in love, perhaps, if that's where it's meant to go. Surely I've seen her. Wouldn't she had to have been one of the farmers' daughters at the grange dances?

But I wasn't overly impressed with the farmers' daughters. At least not like I am in my fantasies of the perfect farmer's daughter. Pinkish red top, some midriff showing, skimpy, cinched blue jeans cutoff shorts, little white socks (is that good?), whatever for shoes, tennis shoes, I guess. Then of course up here, the face, the head, the hair, all in the pert, sassy, sparkly, wild kind of way I like. And smart, smart enough to see through all of it. Then she could get rid of the costume and be a normal women, the kind I could love.

It's funny I was actually more impressed with the matrons, once the husbands had relaxed enough that I didn't feel like I was about to be kicked to death by one of Lemuel's horses. It's funny in a couple of ways. One, that I would be more impressed by them than the farmers' daughters. But the farmers' daughters have other interests. Or they're playing the part in such an amateurish way, the luring, tempting, testing, all that. Youthful ignorance. It's worth analyzing fully but I don't have time now.

Two, it's funny because the matrons are either my age or younger. Even though they are matrons, I tend to think of matrons as much older. But these gals are still relatively young, they're just matronly before their time. But they were having a better time, dancing with me, bumping and meeting in a looser way. Like they were ashamed of being matrons.

This looks like a job for the human environmental sciences. But I'm pressed for time.

Now my big concern is hoping I haven't put too much into this invitation to be with Lemaperu. Maybe they've already pledged her off to one of the local boys. Maybe a lot of things. And, there's no telling what Grandma might say, since she's the one who needs to give me away. If I get her woke up and explain to her what's going on, perhaps she'll keep sentience long enough to offer her blessing or long enough for me to guide her signature on some of the paperwork. The old customs die hard. Like a really good car battery.

Anyway, we're up to Wednesday, with it being impossible this week for time to speed by. Certain logistical troubles arise whenever you use the time speeder once you've stated a particular day of the week something is going on happen on. It's easier to lose three weeks than one day. So I wait just like everyone else, except I can't wait for Thursday to get here!

Lema, O Lemaperu! I hope you're lying in wait for me. I hope to walk you up the path. I hope we're holding hands before the evening's through. I hope your mom and dad leave us in the parlor. Maybe we'll go out and brush the horses. Maybe I'll see the moonlight in your smile. Is there even a moon out? I need to check the calendar. It's mid-August, when a man's fancy turns to romance.

Hold out your hand, my darling! Let me guide you to our love bower. As we sit and swing and enjoy those movements together, may the lovebirds that inhabit the world's flower trellises sing with their sparkling notes the songs that celebrate the union of man and woman, lovers who will find themselves lost in each other's everlasting company!