She has bad hair and is a little overweight, but these are the least of her problems. Her eyes are enormous. They remind me of that Big Bopper song that says "there's nothing in the world like a big-eyed girl." It's true. She makes me feel real loose, like a long-necked goose. She is not doe-eyed, but freakish. I can only guess she was raised in a very low light environment, like the New York subway tunnels or at the bottom of a deep cave in Tennessee. Perhaps her father ran one of those commercial tourist caverns you see on long drives through Appalachia or out West. If I didn't know her name, I'd call her "The Morlock."
Sadly, the Morlock has a name. It's Linda Tripp. No shit. "How terrible," I say, as she shows me her driver's license as proof. She's offended that I think it's a such a terrible name, I feel a little bad about that, but it is a terrible name. It just is. I'm so glad I never have to say, "I'm not the Blaine Elliott. I'm just a Blaine Elliott."
Also, she talks incessantly about Freakanomics. It takes her a long time to realize that I am incredibly bored by the subject. She has the social skills to match her Morlock appearance. Finally, she gets personal when she talks to the bartender. She tells of how her ex-boyfriend stole her dog when he moved out. She tells of how she was supposed to be in court yesterday as a witness to some domestic abuse charges against him, but his mother asked her not to come because a guilty verdict would ruin his burgeoning career in National Security. In deference to his mother and his career potential, she decided to skip the hearing. I'm pretty sure she's thinking they'll get back together. I'll bet she's right. Kind of.
She says she is meeting a friend later tonight in DC for dinner and drinks, but that was an hour-and-a-half ago. Either she's lying, or she's a horrible alcoholic who just can't stop once the drinks start, or she is a terrible friend. I decide that the answer is a mixture of the first two and I lose interest and go home.