Warhol of Love

Warhol of Love  
 
     “Your bed sheets are tangled as though you’d just come in from a drunk. You must drink like a fish to have let your bed get into such a disarray.”
     “I am a social drinker. Just a glass of Pinot Noir gets me through the night.”
     “In the spirit of the women’s temperance society I look askance at men who need alcohol to make their nights placid. Is the liquor a red herring for a deeper existential angst such as a conflict between the id and the superego?”
     “Not at all. My self-esteem is just fine why thank you.”
    “I see you are not versed at all in Freudian lingo. That will have to be remedied if we are to further mess up your bed.”
     “I know a phallic symbol from an Oedipus complex.”
     “And you speak of such things in mixed company. Fortunately, I am a liberated woman and am not ruffled by such talk. So long as you don’t get into locker room innuendo such as would make even Jung blush we will be on good terms. Do you even like Chaplin movies?”
     “Love him. He was a circus clown for intellectuals.”      
     “How dare you profane the name of the almighty Chaplin! He was no clown. He created his own genre. Hence his name became a household word.”  
     “I got his underlying meanings. But ultimately he was a comic character, much like in the Three Stooges.”
     “How could you compare the master of mime with those slapstick buffoons?”
     “Well he was subtler.”
     “He was a bulwark against fascism, a light in the darkness enfolding Europe. But I suspect you must be trying to provoke my ire in the hopes of a libidinal response.”
     “Did it work?”
     “I don’t have to answer that.”
     “You don’t need too because your eyes are misty.”
     “You wicked man. But tell me can you kiss like Chaplin? Or are you a clumsy member of the Three Stooges school of osculation. Much as your taste in movies sounds palatable your bedroom signifies the Pollock school of art as opposed to the Pointillism I fancy.”
     “I can get to the point in matters of intimacy.”
    “Oh my, we are audacious tonight. In matters of romance there is no jumping the gun for me. One must work these things out like Socrates leading his pupils. But not like Aristotle. I don’t take kindly to logicians of the dry and mechanical sort. In such a case deconstruction is required. And I am not of a mood to engage in such dismantling of patriarchal logic tonight.”
     “The only thing logical about me is that I make lesson plans for my students. But I am a comedian as a lecturer. High school kids wouldn’t pay attention otherwise.”
     “I am one of a heart to appreciate a funny man. So long as you don’t use stereotypes of women in your standup routine. I would take umbrage at that sort of thing.”
      “I respect women and would never poke fun at their emotionalism.”
     “Hey you’re treading on thin ice. Implying women are flighty creatures ruled by mood swings  
is so passe and indeed downright offensive. If you are to have any hope of tasting my lipstick such  
banter must be eschewed.”
     “All people are emotional. I get emotional over football.”
     “Much as I find the brawn of those men attractive, I find the sport to be a prime example of chauvinistic brutes carrying on like boys. Men should grow out of that.”
     “For me it is just a pastime like watching silent movies is for some. No dialogue just action. I see nothing wrong with that.”
     “Oh my God. Next thing you will be telling me you like to sit in a circle with men and beat drums and howl at the moon.”
     “Rest assured I don’t engage in barbaric rituals. Though I do yell at the players when they make a poorly executed play.”
     “That sounds a bit more acceptable. At least you aren’t so sunk into your animus as to return to the neolithic epoch.”
     “Then do I meet the requirements for a peck on the lips?”
     “You never told me how you kiss. Do you let your anima play when doing so? If so, we are in  
synchronicity.”
      “I am not a mere animal whether in bed or out.”
     “I see I shall have to explain each term as though you were a schoolboy. Anima, as in your inner feminine side. The woman in every man as there is animus in every woman. The paucity of your lexicon amazes me. You are to romance what Warhol is to art.”
     “I may be the Campbell’s soup of love but I kiss like Nijinsky danced in his prime.”
     “I see you are not completely unversed in cultural history. Even your primitive masculinity has its charm. Now kiss me you savage beast.”