Home > Woman in a Man's Game > Woman in a Man’s Game

Woman in a Man’s Game

By Robin Brox
File photo

He took me out to the racetrack.  It was desolate, not a car in the unpaved, dirt parking lot.  It had rained so there were puddles everywhere.  Puddles and potholes, filled with brown water and the effluvia of filthy, degenerate mankind.

The sky was slate grey.

He launched the airplane.  It made a queer buzzing noise, then ascended out of sight.

“Imagine my pride at this,” he noted.  I hated his winter jacket– it was too damn puffy.  A man gets too puffy and he looks like a total asshole.

“Did you hear how it took off towards the heavens with a great WHOOSH?” he added.  That was enough.

“No, don’t go yet, don’t go,” he pleaded.  “You have to see this.”

In the grey distance, I could see something red appear from the bottom of the plane.

“It’s the recovery chute!” he exclaimed joyously.  “It will float gently back to earth.  Another sensational flight!”

The plane disappeared with a final ejaculatory buzz.  We walked back to the car.  I dumped him a couple of days later.

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