Ah, the census. Such memories. I should write a book. A census is like your first love. I remember #1 and #2 distinctly. I have totally forgotten #3 and #4. I'm not in the mood to meet #5. #1--we met in a college dormitory. I was so innocent. I lost #2, or should I say she was stolen from me. I lived in a singles complex. I don't think they have them anymore. Feminism destroyed the sexual revolution, at least for men. It was a giant modern apartment complex with the requirement that you be single. Hundreds of apartments. I chucked #2 into the mail slot at the apartment office, next to the giant party room and pool hall room. Later I heard that someone had stolen them all, probably to get our secret information. So a census woman came to our doors a month later to get the info. I invited her in for a beer and we got to know each other. She was a Scorpio, married to a hot-tempered immigrant from South America. Well, we stayed in constant phone contact and went out together occasionally. Ah yes, #2. Finally I ditched her when I moved and didn't tell her my new phone number. What happened to #3 and #4? How can I remember after #2, the one who got away? And now comes #5. Every 10 years this happens to me and I don't know why. What a dream it has been. How can I stand to be so happy?
