An ode to Elizabeth Turner

If you read here any length of time, you may have noticed a name keeps popping up: Liz Turner. She's a model. I don't know much about her, but since when has that stopped me from writing nice things about a woman? Okay, I do know a little bit. Follow along? 

Suffice to say, I'm clueless about women. Okay, I'm more than clueless. I'm a little soft in the head, perhaps. Okay, I'm retarded. What, I can't use that word? How about you pretend you didn't read it? I'm retarded, after all. I can't help it. Anyway, men like me don't get the girl. Or, I'm realizing, any girl. 

I'm just a dolt, I guess. I used to read Archie comics when I was a kid. Archie had a hard time deciding which girl to be with: Betty or Veronica. If only we could all be so conflicted. Honestly, I always thought Betty was the better choice, even though she was kind of, um, dim. She was more down to earth and was probably more fun than snooty, rich Veronica. By the way, the abomination that is the television show Riverdale has no relation (other than some names) to Archie comics. I watched the first season because it seemed promising, then suffered through the second season, and when Luke Perry died, I couldn't watch anymore. But, anyway, I may be even more clueless than Archie, given my favorite character on Riverdale was Cheryl Blossom, who ended up being a lesbian. Great taste, guy. Kinda reminds me of my marriage. I told you I was retarded! 

Of course, any guy would be lucky to be with either girl. They were both great. I often wondered what they saw in Archie. I mean, is he really wearing green socks? I don't know. But, clearly, Liz Turner is like Betty Cooper. She's blonde. She's fun. She probably likes ginger-headed boys with green socks. Eww. 

One thing I do know is Liz doesn't eat meat. I think she's vegan. She did some promotional stuff for PETA, which is an organization of insane people, so that doesn't speak highly of her. But I'm sure she is a kind person if she doesn't even like to think of animals dying to feed people. Okay, whatever. That's fine. The world is big enough for all of our belief systems. But I won't hesitate to tear into a steak anytime soon because I might offend a model somewhere in the world. God provided meat for all of us to eat. If she doesn't eat hers, that's more for me. 

Still, her smile melts me. That's the thing I like about her the most. Here is a beautiful model who slays men right and left with her whole aura, whether she smiles or not. But that smile is the killer. You'd expect such a beautiful woman to have a mercilessly gorgeous smile. And it is. But it is unexpectedly girly (and, truly, she isn't very old). She becomes the girl next door when she smiles. It's very disarming. 

Also disarming is her odd manner of speaking, where she seems to use her whole face, like she's chewing words very demonstratively. But she also has a soft way of talking at times, and then you notice the lisp. Ah, the lisp. It's nice. It's all very endearing. 

And then you see her in a swimsuit, and ... all thoughts leave your head. It's almost embarrassing. Okay, it's been a while since I've seen a woman in the flesh (or, better, a woman's flesh), I admit. And, honestly, she's a booby girl. My preference is actually less in the curves department, believe it or not. If I was in love with her, I'd be all about her in every way. I'd love her body. That wouldn't be hard at all, of course. Unfortunately, in our society, when we see a girl with boobs, we think "bimbo." That's not fair or right. But that's how it is. I'm sure she's not a bimbo. Still, I get embarrassed by the boobs. The girl can't help it. And neither can I. Do I sound like a prude? (Or just retarded again?) Okay, maybe I am. I recognize the kind of society we live in, but I also think some things only one's significant other should see. But covering a lady like Liz with a beach towel doesn't sell swimsuits. 

So, let's just focus on that smile. Oh, my. I love her gums. Is that weird? I have an odd fixation with teeth and gums. I realize it's rude to stare at someone's teeth when they're talking to you, but I do that. I don't feel compelled to apologize when I'm looking at a photograph, though. If she was standing in front of me, I probably wouldn't stare at her gums; I'd probably lose all my thoughts (like I'm retar ... you know), especially if she smiled at me for some odd reason, like if she thought I was gay. Do I look gay? Sound gay? It wouldn't be the first time someone thought I was gay. 

She can model underwear or swimsuits or wedding gowns. It's all the same. She looks gorgeous no matter what. I'm sure she can work in the industry for many years if she wants. She's also very bright, so she could do something else, as well. Or just marry a guy named Joshua she hasn't met yet and pop out lots of little blonde kids. Whatever. Did you know some girls prefer older men? I had a strange experience back when I was on a dating app with a girl who was in her early 20s. I think I properly talked her out of dating me, though, as any clueless dad would do. She's a good kid, I'm sure. She can do better than waste her time on a silver fox (ha!). 

Okay, I admit, it's hard to talk about Liz Turner without delving (immersing?) into the world of fantasy. Or, any girl for that matter. I'm a lost cause. I'm done. Stick a fork in me. But let me enjoy my last remaining days imagining something good and nice ... and wholesome. Get your mind out of the gutter. She's a nice girl. At least in my little fantasy world. She's whatever I want. She's Betty Cooper, remember? 

No, she's not perfect. Only one girl was perfect for me, though I was not for her. But one can dream, right? I wonder what she's thinking about here. What's for dinner? (Certainly not meat.) Am I looking pensive enough? Too pensive? How many polka dots are on this outfit? Did I remember to feed my dog? I wonder if I'll ever meet a nice, older man named Joshua who will give me lots of little blonde-headed children? Yeah, sure. It's your fantasy, dude. Knock yourself out, you silver fox you.

One last photo and then I'm done. Isn't she pretty? No, I'm not in love with her. I was in love twice in my life. The last one did me in. I think that's more than enough. Fantasies are safer than actually falling in love. But those freckles could make me fall in love again, maybe. What is it with freckles? I love them. Freckles and gums and teeth, oh my. I could stare at her all day. I'm sure she wouldn't find that unnerving at all. This (touched in the head) silver fox (sorry, said it again) is staring at me all day; I guess I'll give in and give him many blonde-headed babies. Shall we make love here or in his very expensive Mercedes? Oh, my. Too much? Okay, I'm done anyway. Just another post from this weird mind. I hope you didn't mind. 

Thank you for reading this trite ode to Elizabeth Turner. She's lovely, and not just because I can make her be whatever I want. For the right man — the man who falls in love with her — she's perfect. I had a girl like that, at least for a moment. Okay, that was probably a fantasy too. But don't tell that to my heart. 

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I sprained my ankle (same one) twice recently. Now I'm walking around like a feeble, old man because I don't want to do it again. Pretty sure I broke something. I just thought you'd like that image accompanied with this post. Also, I am still sick (for more than a week now)! Getting old is fun! Welcome to the great decline. Needless to say, I look forward to my new body.

My new blog, None Dare Call It Treason.