Toad and Scorpion

A toad and a scorpion come to edge of a river.

“Oy, Toad,” says Scorpion. “How about a ride across yon river?”

“No chance,” says Toad. “You’d sting me.”

“Nonsense,” says Scorpion. “If I stung you, you would die, and I would drown.”

“Makes sense to me,” says Toad.

Scorpion climbs onto Toad’s back, and Toad jumps into the river.

Halfway across, Toad feels a burning pain in his side.

“Why did you sting me, Scorpion?” he cries. “Now we both shall die!”

“I can’t help it,” Scorpion murmurs. “It’s in my nature.”

My friends and family worry about me. Awfully serious awfully fast, they say. Be careful of the rebound, they say. Don’t forget to floss, they say.

For the most part, they’re glad to see me so happy. They also don’t want me to get hurt. For my part, I’m glad to be so happy. And I don’t want me to get hurt, either. It seems we’re all on the same page.

I’d like to ease back into dating, to see who’s out there, to cautiously, judiciously, and soberly consider my next course of action. Well, a woman is not a course of action. And fortunately or unfortunately, I don’t know how to date. What I do is dive from the cliff and into the waters below, with all the restraint of a child blundering through a field chasing a butterfly. It’s not shrewd, I know, but I can’t help it.

It’s in my nature.