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"Hi! Jennifer, it's David. Sorry, for bothering you, but..."

She cut me off with: "Don't be silly, David. I'm not feeling bothered at all."

"Well, after you hear what I have to say, maybe your feelings will change," I cautioned her.

She responded with an: "Oh!?". It seemed to be both an exclamation and a question.

"I'm pretty terrible at this kind of thing," I confessed, "so I hope you'll forgive my lack of social graces."

"I'll do my best," she promised.

"Would you be interested in going out...you know...on a...ahh... a date." My brain felt like it was turning to jelly.

"That didn't strike me as lacking in social graces, David, but we may have to work on your enunciation and delivery."

"You're not going to make this easy for me... are you?" I said with semi-mock disconsolateness.

"Struggle is the anvil on which character is forged," she replied.

"What, do you have a book of quotable quotes in front of you, just waiting to terrorize poor unfortunates like myself with the casually discarded bon mot?" I challenged.

"David, how can you possibly feel you are lacking in social graces when you slip in French expressions with such savoir faire," she countered.

"If sprinkling my conversation with clever French witticisms is the key to my admission into the world of social graces, I'm afraid I'm destined to be standing on the barbarian side of the entrance for quite some time," I confessed.

"In fact," I added, "I'm pretty certain my French language disability probably played a significant role in Quebec's desire to separate from Canada. My lack of linguistic skills proved to be such an embarrassment to both English-speaking and French-speaking Canadians I became persona non grata and was asked by the Federal government to leave Canada for the sake of national unity.

"Unfortunately, the Québécois separatists considered this gesture on the part of the Federal government to be too little, too late. Being responsible, at least potentially, for the break-up of a country is a very tough burden to try to bear sometimes."

"Although," Jennifer said, "I suspect you are suffering from a serious case of memory confabulation, having you slip into depression simply won't do. I guess I'll be forced to accept your invitation. This course of treatment probably will be easier than trying to drag you in from some office ledge."

"Since you put it like that," I said, with what I hoped was the right amount and touch of pathos, "maybe I should run with your obvious empathy for the situation, and ask about your availability for tomorrow night."

"Here at the Distress Center, we try to be as accessible as possible for those in need," she informed me. "What did you have in mind?"

I was sort of unprepared for having to come up with an actual plan of action. I hemmed and hawed a little, and, then, kind of blurted out: "Why not take a walk along the Charles and sort of play it by ear?"

"Apparently, we have graduated from office ledges to the murky waters of the Charles," she observed. "This outing appears to be fraught with peril."

"If you keep your distance from me," I suggested, "I believe you'll be alright. I'll try to slip below the surface in a splash-less fashion."

"What time does the show get under way?" she inquired.

"If possible," I stipulated, "I usually like to jump before 8:00 p.m.. The currents are more favorable at that time. Consequently, if I were to pick you up around 7:30, I think I could still make my window of opportunity."

"Sounds exciting," she exclaimed. "I'm looking forward to it."

"I find considerable satisfaction in knowing that my impending demise is eliciting such anticipation," I announced. "Are you sure you can control yourself between now and then?"

"I could say," Jennifer remonstrated, "that: 'Struggle is the anvil on which character is forged', but, somehow it seems so cliched. Instead, I'll just run through a few anxiety reduction exercises and hope I make it."

"Ahh...Jennifer," I said hesitantly, "there is one other thing."

"Yes?" she said, in a tone of voice that suggested she might be about to hear the other shoe drop.

"Where do you live?" I asked.

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