"To see exactly how fast the beads fastened at the bottoms of her braids
whip in their trajectory as she fly dances would surely require a
digital stopwatch accurate to six decimal places and a stop action
camera," sighed Oleg, enraptured. I watched Molly careen, prance, and
strut about the dance floor, now an imposing goddess, now a coquettish
child, now a sinewy minnow, and then I looked back at Oleg. I could not
believe she was actually dating this stop-action geek.
"Did you know that her breasts are in perfect Fibonacci ratio to her arm
span?" he said, his eyes all round and big like a lovesick puppy geek.
I just knew I shouldn't have asked, but my mouth has always been a
little faster than my good sense, so I said "how do you know that?"
"Why I measured them with calipers, of course."
"Oh," I said, "of course." Then I hurled my fist into his geek jaw.
