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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Love / Romance / Dating
- Published: 01/17/2025
Mister Accurate.
Born 1951, M, from Wilmington NC, United States.jpeg)
“I hate being fat.”
He shrugged. He knew he shouldn’t answer. He just hated inaccuracies of any kind. Ever since he was a child, he had to be accurate in any statement or assessment he made. He knew before he even opened his mouth how this was going to go. So he sighed - and spoke up:
“No. You don’t.”
His Co worker stared at him open mouthed. Her face turning a bright red. The other four Co-workers kept silent. They knew his penchant for correcting even the littlest exaggeration, or slip of the tongue. So they waited for the response by her.
“What? How can you say that? I hate being fat!”
He shook his head slightly. Sighed again. Why or why, he wondered to himself-can’t I just let those things go.Those small errors in the way people talk or recite facts; facts that aren’t really facts. Sometimes he wished he could become a Hermit and live in a cave somewhere far from people. Then he spoke:
“Because you are still fat. If you really didn’t want to be fat, you would change your diet, your habits, or increase your exercise. You would do whatever it took to become thinner, or lose weight. But you don’t do that. You just complain about being fat. So part of you must like being fat, or at least not willing to do what it takes to not be fat. So you can’t hate being fat as much as you think you do.”
She stood up, threw her wadded up napkin at him, a tear already falling from her eye.
“Thanks for the support you idiot.”
The other coworkers sat in silence. So did he. Not another word was said. Everyone was just thinking. So was he.
He went back to the Office to apologize, only to find out he was fired, and there was a Complaint lodged against him by Human Resources. HR informed him that the only reason he wasn’t facing a lawsuit, was that in her statement she noted that he never called her fat, but just noted that she didn’t hate being fat. So even though it cost him his job, it wouldn’t cost him a ton of legal fees.
He packed up his belongings - belonging that barely filled up a plastic grocery badge. He hadn’t been with the Company long. Longer than most, as he had made it past the probationary period…by a whopping three days. That made him chuckle.
“I must be getting better at this keeping my mouth shut thing.”
He knew that statement was inaccurate-so he corrected himself.
“I suck at being around people.”
That didn’t set off any of his “inaccurate statements” alarm signals. Once again he sighed to himself. For that could only mean his last thought was accurate.
*****
“Are you Michael Spenser?”
He just stared at the woman who had knocked on his door. She was maybe a year older than he was. She was cute in a “girl next door” way. A nice figure, but not one that could bend a neck for a second look, or set a teenage boy’s hormones raging. If he had to describe what her physical appearance looked like to him, he would have said: “Affectionate.” The kind of person you cuddle with, or lean against when times are troubled.
He shook that spider web of unconnected thoughts from his consciousness and awkwardly answered the woman at his door:
“Yes, and you are…?”
She laughed. (Again, the word affectionate popped into his mind, that was a warm laugh. Not a laughing at, but a laughing with sauce covering it.)
“Oh, forgive me for being rude. My name is Kathleen Parsons, my friends call me Kay. Well, most of them, some of them have nicknames for me…but well, those are kinda personal.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. He asked her what kind of nicknames.
She blushed a little:
“Well, you know the normal ones: “Ginger” because of my red hair. “Red” if you are American, I don’t think Ginger has caught on over here on this side of the pond. “
Before he could ask if she was from the other side of the pond, she raced on. He had inadvertently asked him a question, and she was going to answer it fully. Something she had always done since she was a kid. And sometimes she wished she could stop doing that. Maybe she could live like a hermit somewhere. But she shrugged those thoughts off and continued to answer him:
“Some of my friend call me “Patty Pollyanna” - you know, because, well I tend to think good things about people and situations. One of my friends calls me “Sunshine.” Okay, that isn’t quite true, a lot of my friends call me sunshine. I think that is good…but not sure why they do. “
She seemed to have wound down, because now she as simply smiling at him. Satisfied that she had answered the question he asked. At least, for now.
He stood delighted with her answer. If words smelled like flowers, a bouquet of roses and jasmine had just been unleashed. For one of the few times in his life, words sounded pleasant and accurate.
“Well, I can tell you why they call you sunshine…and I just met you!”
She blushed. The feminine part of her sensed a connection. One that she wasn’t expecting. So she asked him a question:
“You can? Then tell me!”
“Certainly. (His smile as authentic -and as accurate- as his following words) You brighten up the day. For anyone. Even me. “
Her heart fluttered. She wasn’t sure if he was flirting, but it didn’t feel like a line or pickup trope. It sounded, well, accurate. Humility took over, even as a bright pink flush rose to her neck.
“ I am sure that isn’t true for everyone I meet.”
He never knew then, or even later rethinking that first meeting with Kay, where the boldness came from. He was just glad it came.
“Well, I don’t know everyone you have met. But I know me, and that’s how I feel. You have brightened my day, and I don’t even know why you knocked on my door.”
Now her heart was no longer fluttering. It would take her brain another hour or two to figure out what her heart already knew to be true. There would be no more dating in her life. Her heart had found a home. Even though her heart wasn’t fluttering anymore- her brain was flustered from the detour from her original mission. So she grasped for the topic change.
“Well, are you the Micheal Spencer who put this comment in the Editorial section of the News Online?”
He looked down at the piece of paper she had printed out his comment on. He remembered it well. He had pointed out the inaccuracies of both sides in a debate on a hot Political Talking point - Trade. He felt compelled to do it, since, well, he did have a Master’s Degree in International Trade and several years of experience with aspects of Tariffs and the two years working with the exit strategy diplomats on Brexit. He had never been to England, but he made a good chunk of money via Zoom. As his analysis’s were always accurate and devoid of hyperbole, exaggeration, or bias.
“Yes, I wrote that. I got so many negative comments, I got off of Social Media the next day. By the way, how did you find me?”
She blushed…again.
“Well, it was pretty easy. I mean you made some pretty outspoken pundits angry…and when they said you couldn’t even hold a job, they mentioned the places you worked. So just called them and asked if Michael Spenser worked there. And they said: “No. He no longer works here.” So I just followed the trail. And …here I am.”
She lifted her shoulders and let them drop, as if to say that it was that easy.
Again, none of his usual “inaccurate statement” alarms went off. This woman says exactly what happened…and how she feels. Unknown to Michael is that his heart had also found a home…in her.
“Okay, so you tracked me down due to my lousy employment record. But why? Just to point out I can’t seem to hold a job down because of my big mouth?”
She could hear the angst…and anger…behind his words. Not directed at her…but at himself. She put one hand lightly on his shoulder, forcing him to make direct eye contact.
“It is the reason why you can’t hold a job that brought me here to offer you a job.”
He froze in place. She almost let her hand drop from her shoulder. Her heart let her brain know that would be a very poor decision. So her hand stayed gently resting on his shoulder.
“A…a…a job? Because I can’t keep a job? I…I don’t understand.”
“From what I have discovered from your writing and employment history is that you cannot stand inaccurate statements of any kind. Your Master’s Thesis had no errors in either numbers or reasoning. I did (blushing again lightly) talk to your Thesis Advisor, and a few of your former classmates and co workers. All of them testified that you are compelled to correct inaccuracies in both written and spoken situations.”
“Yes…and that means exactly what in relationship to a job offer?”
She blushed again. Nothing but the truth would work, so she told him.
“Like you, I am kinda good at my job. (another understatement caused by her naturally humble outlook on her life and accomplishments) I am in charge of a small hedge fund in Britain. (Small being relative, as she controls the assets of some forty five billion dollars worth of investments)
I can usually spot a good opportunity, even though they think I gave out more information than they gave me in the initial meetings.
What I need is someone who can ferret out the inaccuracies in the complex appendices they always attach to their proposals. I need total accuracy…and that is rarely evident in how they structure their proposals or deals. You don’t have to talk to the people who approach me with their Briefs, you just have to analyze them for accuracy for me. Would you be interested in that? I can pay you well…and, well, you have to move to Britain, will that be an issue?”
His jaw dropped. Her hand stayed put on his shoulder. He reached up and pulled into his own hand. She felt a tingle, and her eyes twinkled with anticipation …as she had no clue where this was going now. Her heart did, and started thumping against her chest.
The boldness seemed to draw more power into his words. Until he heard them out loud, he would have never believed he was the one saying them. Although they were accurate words;
“Kay, I will go anywhere with you.”
“Oh. I guess that means you’ll take the job?”
“No. I will take you, the job is just a bonus.”
She wanted to reply, but her heart shushed her, and her lips leaned into his.
“I’m in love.”
Michale Spenser thought the same thing as they kissed.
It was the most accurate sentence he ever thought.
Mister Accurate.(Kevin Hughes)
“I hate being fat.”
He shrugged. He knew he shouldn’t answer. He just hated inaccuracies of any kind. Ever since he was a child, he had to be accurate in any statement or assessment he made. He knew before he even opened his mouth how this was going to go. So he sighed - and spoke up:
“No. You don’t.”
His Co worker stared at him open mouthed. Her face turning a bright red. The other four Co-workers kept silent. They knew his penchant for correcting even the littlest exaggeration, or slip of the tongue. So they waited for the response by her.
“What? How can you say that? I hate being fat!”
He shook his head slightly. Sighed again. Why or why, he wondered to himself-can’t I just let those things go.Those small errors in the way people talk or recite facts; facts that aren’t really facts. Sometimes he wished he could become a Hermit and live in a cave somewhere far from people. Then he spoke:
“Because you are still fat. If you really didn’t want to be fat, you would change your diet, your habits, or increase your exercise. You would do whatever it took to become thinner, or lose weight. But you don’t do that. You just complain about being fat. So part of you must like being fat, or at least not willing to do what it takes to not be fat. So you can’t hate being fat as much as you think you do.”
She stood up, threw her wadded up napkin at him, a tear already falling from her eye.
“Thanks for the support you idiot.”
The other coworkers sat in silence. So did he. Not another word was said. Everyone was just thinking. So was he.
He went back to the Office to apologize, only to find out he was fired, and there was a Complaint lodged against him by Human Resources. HR informed him that the only reason he wasn’t facing a lawsuit, was that in her statement she noted that he never called her fat, but just noted that she didn’t hate being fat. So even though it cost him his job, it wouldn’t cost him a ton of legal fees.
He packed up his belongings - belonging that barely filled up a plastic grocery badge. He hadn’t been with the Company long. Longer than most, as he had made it past the probationary period…by a whopping three days. That made him chuckle.
“I must be getting better at this keeping my mouth shut thing.”
He knew that statement was inaccurate-so he corrected himself.
“I suck at being around people.”
That didn’t set off any of his “inaccurate statements” alarm signals. Once again he sighed to himself. For that could only mean his last thought was accurate.
*****
“Are you Michael Spenser?”
He just stared at the woman who had knocked on his door. She was maybe a year older than he was. She was cute in a “girl next door” way. A nice figure, but not one that could bend a neck for a second look, or set a teenage boy’s hormones raging. If he had to describe what her physical appearance looked like to him, he would have said: “Affectionate.” The kind of person you cuddle with, or lean against when times are troubled.
He shook that spider web of unconnected thoughts from his consciousness and awkwardly answered the woman at his door:
“Yes, and you are…?”
She laughed. (Again, the word affectionate popped into his mind, that was a warm laugh. Not a laughing at, but a laughing with sauce covering it.)
“Oh, forgive me for being rude. My name is Kathleen Parsons, my friends call me Kay. Well, most of them, some of them have nicknames for me…but well, those are kinda personal.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. He asked her what kind of nicknames.
She blushed a little:
“Well, you know the normal ones: “Ginger” because of my red hair. “Red” if you are American, I don’t think Ginger has caught on over here on this side of the pond. “
Before he could ask if she was from the other side of the pond, she raced on. He had inadvertently asked him a question, and she was going to answer it fully. Something she had always done since she was a kid. And sometimes she wished she could stop doing that. Maybe she could live like a hermit somewhere. But she shrugged those thoughts off and continued to answer him:
“Some of my friend call me “Patty Pollyanna” - you know, because, well I tend to think good things about people and situations. One of my friends calls me “Sunshine.” Okay, that isn’t quite true, a lot of my friends call me sunshine. I think that is good…but not sure why they do. “
She seemed to have wound down, because now she as simply smiling at him. Satisfied that she had answered the question he asked. At least, for now.
He stood delighted with her answer. If words smelled like flowers, a bouquet of roses and jasmine had just been unleashed. For one of the few times in his life, words sounded pleasant and accurate.
“Well, I can tell you why they call you sunshine…and I just met you!”
She blushed. The feminine part of her sensed a connection. One that she wasn’t expecting. So she asked him a question:
“You can? Then tell me!”
“Certainly. (His smile as authentic -and as accurate- as his following words) You brighten up the day. For anyone. Even me. “
Her heart fluttered. She wasn’t sure if he was flirting, but it didn’t feel like a line or pickup trope. It sounded, well, accurate. Humility took over, even as a bright pink flush rose to her neck.
“ I am sure that isn’t true for everyone I meet.”
He never knew then, or even later rethinking that first meeting with Kay, where the boldness came from. He was just glad it came.
“Well, I don’t know everyone you have met. But I know me, and that’s how I feel. You have brightened my day, and I don’t even know why you knocked on my door.”
Now her heart was no longer fluttering. It would take her brain another hour or two to figure out what her heart already knew to be true. There would be no more dating in her life. Her heart had found a home. Even though her heart wasn’t fluttering anymore- her brain was flustered from the detour from her original mission. So she grasped for the topic change.
“Well, are you the Micheal Spencer who put this comment in the Editorial section of the News Online?”
He looked down at the piece of paper she had printed out his comment on. He remembered it well. He had pointed out the inaccuracies of both sides in a debate on a hot Political Talking point - Trade. He felt compelled to do it, since, well, he did have a Master’s Degree in International Trade and several years of experience with aspects of Tariffs and the two years working with the exit strategy diplomats on Brexit. He had never been to England, but he made a good chunk of money via Zoom. As his analysis’s were always accurate and devoid of hyperbole, exaggeration, or bias.
“Yes, I wrote that. I got so many negative comments, I got off of Social Media the next day. By the way, how did you find me?”
She blushed…again.
“Well, it was pretty easy. I mean you made some pretty outspoken pundits angry…and when they said you couldn’t even hold a job, they mentioned the places you worked. So just called them and asked if Michael Spenser worked there. And they said: “No. He no longer works here.” So I just followed the trail. And …here I am.”
She lifted her shoulders and let them drop, as if to say that it was that easy.
Again, none of his usual “inaccurate statement” alarms went off. This woman says exactly what happened…and how she feels. Unknown to Michael is that his heart had also found a home…in her.
“Okay, so you tracked me down due to my lousy employment record. But why? Just to point out I can’t seem to hold a job down because of my big mouth?”
She could hear the angst…and anger…behind his words. Not directed at her…but at himself. She put one hand lightly on his shoulder, forcing him to make direct eye contact.
“It is the reason why you can’t hold a job that brought me here to offer you a job.”
He froze in place. She almost let her hand drop from her shoulder. Her heart let her brain know that would be a very poor decision. So her hand stayed gently resting on his shoulder.
“A…a…a job? Because I can’t keep a job? I…I don’t understand.”
“From what I have discovered from your writing and employment history is that you cannot stand inaccurate statements of any kind. Your Master’s Thesis had no errors in either numbers or reasoning. I did (blushing again lightly) talk to your Thesis Advisor, and a few of your former classmates and co workers. All of them testified that you are compelled to correct inaccuracies in both written and spoken situations.”
“Yes…and that means exactly what in relationship to a job offer?”
She blushed again. Nothing but the truth would work, so she told him.
“Like you, I am kinda good at my job. (another understatement caused by her naturally humble outlook on her life and accomplishments) I am in charge of a small hedge fund in Britain. (Small being relative, as she controls the assets of some forty five billion dollars worth of investments)
I can usually spot a good opportunity, even though they think I gave out more information than they gave me in the initial meetings.
What I need is someone who can ferret out the inaccuracies in the complex appendices they always attach to their proposals. I need total accuracy…and that is rarely evident in how they structure their proposals or deals. You don’t have to talk to the people who approach me with their Briefs, you just have to analyze them for accuracy for me. Would you be interested in that? I can pay you well…and, well, you have to move to Britain, will that be an issue?”
His jaw dropped. Her hand stayed put on his shoulder. He reached up and pulled into his own hand. She felt a tingle, and her eyes twinkled with anticipation …as she had no clue where this was going now. Her heart did, and started thumping against her chest.
The boldness seemed to draw more power into his words. Until he heard them out loud, he would have never believed he was the one saying them. Although they were accurate words;
“Kay, I will go anywhere with you.”
“Oh. I guess that means you’ll take the job?”
“No. I will take you, the job is just a bonus.”
She wanted to reply, but her heart shushed her, and her lips leaned into his.
“I’m in love.”
Michale Spenser thought the same thing as they kissed.
It was the most accurate sentence he ever thought.
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Denise Arnault
01/18/2025You continue to find innovative story lines and them fill them with extensive characterizations. This was a wonderful (and probably accurate:) description of how it feels to have the sort of brain wiring that your characters have. I was impressed and enjoyed the story immensely. Thanks!
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
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Kevin Hughes
01/19/2025Aloha Denise,
I even caught your pun! Well done. Thank you for the kind words and the wonderful comments. You have a great day.
Smiles, Kevin.
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