Precluded by genetics from the easy path to attracting and fascinating the opposite sex—that is by looking awesome—I was left to pursue charm. Realistically, most of us are in this boat. We must, perforce, resort to language to pitch ourselves as worthy companions. We must be glib, charming, communicative, and/or interesting. It’s not easy, especially for the shy and the conversationally disadvantaged, although, even here, some paths are easier than others.
I thought the easiest way would be to become a writer. That way I could have a reputation for a way with words that would precede me into social contexts. I would have a body of work to prove how well I could weave words. The beauty part would be that, having the evidentiary body of work, I would not be required constantly to prove my lingual mettle by actually carrying on conversations. It would be almost exactly the same as being rich or good looking.
By the time I developed what might pass for a body of work, though, I didn’t need it anymore. I was already married and off the market. I had found a woman who thought I was attractive—and still does apparently. I didn’t need to write or talk or play golf. It turns out I didn’t even need a job. She still thinks I’m good looking. I make her swoon a little bit. This is why I say it is better to be lucky than smart. If you are lucky, good stuff just happens that you will never be able to account for by logic. A little luck trumps handsome. Go figure.