Sometimes she just likes to be alone and not have to talk to people and be perfect, but instead, blend in to the crowd and just enjoy herself and not have to worry about anything else.  She’s independent, successful and doesn’t need a man to constantly keep by her side to protect her, show her the way, and make her look acceptable, but a good man is hard to find, and when she finds him, she’ll keep him, and they will complement each other to inspire each other in life and their careers.

The problem is, wherever she goes, the men find her, or at least their eyes do. She’s blessed with long blonde hair, sometimes curly and wavy, and her early morning workouts that include Peloton workouts, elliptical sessions, and intense kickboxing videos producing enough sweat to create a well-toned feminine figure.  In fact, some of her men have told her that her tight-fitting jeans were produced just for athletic legs like hers, and when she walks, especially with heels, the rhythmic motion of her feminine hips display a divine symphony of feminine perfection.

So, when she walked into the country music venue and found a comfortable chair in the back, all male heads either turned her way to study her visage and graceful but confident walk, or if they were with a wife or girlfriend, they tried valiantly to avoid the stare with eye control but usually failed.  But there was a small, barely perceptible rectangular bulge on her hip, covered by her loose-fitting blouse that seemed out of place.

She ordered a smooth cab, sat down and listened.  Most of the men did not have the courage to meet this goddess, but just smiled, and sometimes sent her drinks, hoping to break through to her heart. If they did meet her, many lost confidence when they learned about her career and felt small, but that was never her fault.  But then, after she did some country dancing, she sat down and finished her wine, but a man finally came up to her.

“Howdy.  May I have this seat?”

“Sure.  Good country music, isn’t it,” she said, trying to keep things comfortable.

“Yes, I find it relaxes me after a tough week.”

“My name’s Rob.  Nice to meet you.”

“Becky. Same here.”

They listened to the music, and her heeled foot was bouncing up and down to the music and Rob was trying not to look at this shiny object too much for fear of becoming dizzy.  Then he got up the courage and asked:

“So, what do you do?”

She smiled, knowing this was often the kiss of death for most relationships and said, “I work in the medical field.”  She hoped that was enough to satisfy his curiosity, but it wasn’t.

“What field?”

She hesitated, then said it.  “I’m a shrink.”

Then silence.   He smiled and looked at the band, took a swig of his beer and then said, “I’ve never met a psychiatrist, so this is my lucky day.”

“There are not many around, but there are plenty of crazies who we need to help.”  She smiled.

He laughed because she said the word crazy, rather than mentally ill.  He thought perhaps it was a little crude, but then, he had no idea.  She knew this would be the effect, but hoped the conversation would end and she could go dance some more.

“So where do you work?” he said.

“I have a private practice and also do consulting at various hospitals, but sometimes I travel for contracting work.”

“What kind of contracting.”

Her foot stopped bouncing.    She thought for a while then said, “Government contracting.  They call me when they need me, on short notice. Usually international.”

With that, she said goodbye to Rob, finished her wine and the night was over. Rob was typical and he lost interest. Her beauty was both a blessing and a curse.  That was ok.  She reached down, checked the Glock 9mm she was packing, and left the bar, hoping Langley wouldn’t call her tonight.

© SRCarson Publications 2026