All Night Long

As a senior in college I wrote an article for the campus political journal. When I called to ask the editor a question, I noticed she had a very sexy voice; I placed her in the "crush" column of my fruitless inventory of campus women. After writing the article I ran into her at a graduation party, and my inventory was subsequently reduced to one name: hers. She agreed to look at a second article I had written.

There was no such article.

Although I was graduating in a matter of hours, I ran home -- leaving behind the best keg beer of my academic career -- to pull one final all-nighter, my last chance to beguile with political wordplay. I finished the article about an hour before I stumbled across stage to receive my diploma the next morning. The day after commencement exercises, while most students were leaving campus, I was waiting tables at the town inn. The beautiful editor stopped in for breakfast. She told me she'd mail suggested edits to the all-night article, if I wanted. I happily gave her my address. I waited. I waited tables. Months later she got around to sending me the edited article; I wrote back. We struck up a correspondence. Six years later, we're celebrating our third Valentine's Day together. I don't remember what the article was about.

| Where Did Our Love Gogh?| Under Where?| Thank Heaven for Little Girls| Doing the Right Wrong Thing| Aw, Shoot| Submitted for Approval| Liar, Liar| All Night Long| Hello, Sailor| Sign of the Times| Queasy Rider| Tripping the Lights| Bar Fright| Circles of Love|