"Oh, you great big beautiful doll, you!" she yipped, waving her popcorn at me.
From then on things got real pitiful. I was supposed to be wrestling a guy named Arnie Kapowsky. Arnie never wrestled any way but hero-style, and the crowd broke his heart that night.
What happened was each time I started to massage Arnie's eyeballs with my thumbs, the crowd whooped with delight. And each time Arnie worked into a hold such as would be perfectly permissible on any dance floor in the country, those kindly old ladies scrambled through the ropes and whanged him with their canes.
Arnie finally terminated this loathsome exhibition by lying down and covering his head with his arms. Either that crowd had to cheer fair or Arnie wasn't going to play.
I don't want to linger any longer on that match. It is something better forgotten by one and all. It is a black and infamous blot, buried now in the pages of wrestling history. Let us leave it there.
Leo waited until we were back in the dressing room before blowing his top. "Freddy," he screeched, "what disgusting thing have you done? Have you rescued some blonde who was going down in the briny deep for the ninth time?"
I told Leo no. "I try to save a blonde from drowning," I said, "and she'll scream high-C for a shark to come and protect her."
"Then have you pulled some tiny toddler out from under the wheels of a careening and malignant truck?" Leo screeched.
I told Leo no. "I try to pull some kid out from under a truck," I said, "and he's liable to bite off my right arm all the way up to my left ear."
"Then how come that crowd was cheering on your side?" Leo howled. "Why were they drooling with affection for you?"