This is just a quick little love story. It’s a slightly expanded version of a writers challenge where a 1,000 word story had to include portions of lyrics from several different songs. That’s why certain scenes may seem a bit forced, like the bar room. This story has references to 5 songs. If you’re the type that enjoys this sort of thing, name as many as you can in the comments. Fair warning—several are quite obscure. Have fun!

My Perfect Girl

How can I look forward to something so much and dread it at the same time? Why the hell did I agree to this?

My friends just wanna pull my head outta my butt after my disastrous year, but I wasn’t really in the mood. I just wanted to see all my old gang again after moving back home from the big city. Unfortunately, I sensed a thinly-veiled “Intervention” to get me over my divorce.

My friends mostly consisted of my old softball team. In truth, they were more like family to me than my actual blood-relatives. So, intervention or not, I approached the dilapidated, often repaired, multi-shade green door of Coogan’s Bar where we always gathered to celebrate a win or a loss.

I spotted Larry. I guess he’s now my best friend since I’ve divorced my previous bestie.

“Tim! Over here.”

We shared a manly hug. You know, slightly off to the side so our junk wasn’t in danger of meeting with two firm slaps on the back.

“Geez, Larry. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“I’m just glad you decided to move back and slum it with us after sampling the big city.”

“If it wasn’t for Jacki, I would have never left Pine Grove. Nebraska was always home.”

“Chicago was that bad?”

“Not really. It just wasn’t home. Where’s the rest of the gang?”

“They’ll wander in soon. Look, man, I don’t want to bring up a sore subject, but what the hell happened? You and Jacki were in love since you were both four years old.”

“But being best friends and being married proved to be two entirely different things.”

“How?”

“I guess I can sum it up in two words: goals and money.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jacki was ambitious as hell, always looking to make more and spend more. Unfortunately, she started the spending before the making part kicked in. I came home one night and found a new Mercedes in our parking spot. She bought it and a bunch of designer clothes, arguing she needed to look the part to get the job she wanted. After lots of arguing and shouting, I realized I had a wife that had Champaign tastes, but we were barely on a beer budget.”

“Oh, man! I guess I’m really lucky to have Nadine. She’s not into expensive stuff, and is happy to be a housewife and mother.”

“You need to treasure her, my friend.”

“So, are you and Jacki still friendly, or did it get nasty?”

“Nasty? No, it wasn’t nasty, but it was stressful. Shoot, we never used to argue. We rarely disagreed on anything until we got married. But it became clear to us both that being married was a mistake. I’m a simple man, and I never want to be anything but a craftsman in my trade. Jacki had a degree in marketing and was determined to make it to the top in the business world.”

“What? Did she think she was better than you, or somethin’?”

“I don’t think so. But it was obvious that she didn’t like hanging with my friends who were a lot like me, and when she made me go with her to events in her social circle I was clearly outta my comfort zone.” We made a clean, friendly split. So ... here I am.”

The rest of the gang filtered in and it started to be like old times. Beer was flowing, everyone’s self-control was being compromised, and raucous conversation flowed freely. Talk turned to girls and our favorite girl parts.

“I’ve always been a boob man. Gotta love ‘dem mellons,” Stan shouted.

“I love me a nice, soft butt,” Dan added.

Everyone around us started yelling out their favorite anatomical attribute when Larry asked, “How about you, Timmy? What your favorite female feature?”

I knew what my answer was.

“Hands.”

The crowd got quiet for some reason. Somebody asked me, “Why?”

“It’s usually the first thing you touch. If it’s right, you can feel the chemistry. It’s the hands that hold and caress. A touch on the neck. A stroke of the arm. Tender playing and fondling—all of it communicating warmth and love.”

Larry broke the resulting deafening silence with a simple statement. “That’s deep, man.”

Realizing I was embarrassing myself, I wanted to change topics. “Hey guys, body parts are good for other things. Like, thumbs! Can’t hold beer without them.” Holding up my bottle, I shouted, “Cheers to thumbs!”

Everyone shouted, “Cheers!”

Larry continued with the new theme. “How about lips to pour the beer through?”

“Don’t forget the most important part,” I shouted. Pointing to my elbow, I made my case. “Look at this. Marvel at its engineered genius. If it bends too far down your arm, you’d pour your beer in your lap. If it was too far up, your drink would go over your head. Gentlemen, I give you the most admirable human body part to beer-loving men like us. God bless the human elbow!”

Everyone was cheering and lifting their mugs to honor the elbow. It struck me how ridiculous a scene it was, but since when have guys and lots of beer ever combined to make a cerebral conversation?

Things quieted and I was chatting with Larry when, in the mirror, I saw pure beauty dancing behind me.

“Larry, let me describe what I think is the perfect woman. She’d have to about five-foot-three or four, have long, reddish-brown hair, lots of cute freckles, normal sized exquisitely shaped breasts, beautifully shaped legs and a moderately ample butt filling out a tight pair of jeans, and the most amazing little beer gut peeking out below a red halter top.

“Uh, Tim, that’s kinda specific, isn’t it? Plus, there’s a girl behind you that looks a lot like your description.”

“Exactly!”

Larry finally woke up and noticed I was looking in the mirror. “Oh, I see. Go talk to her, Timmy. She looks sweet and approachable.”

“I think I’ll do just that! Excuse me, buddy.”

“Good luck, mate!”

I turned to make my way towards this vision of beauty. I will admit that my initial reaction when I saw her in the mirror was pure lust. But when we looked at each other and our eyes met, I felt something stirring much deeper in my soul. Was it magnetism or some surge of power? I can’t really describe it, but I knew I was compelled to meet her as if everything that was good in my life depended on it.

“Excuse me, I’m Tim. Can I dance with you?”

“Hi Tim. I’m Annie. Let’s see what you got.”

“I hope I’m a good enough dance partner. You certainly have the moves.