I am reminded of a woman who used to come to my church. D was an astonishingly plain woman, with long, straight, dark hair which she pulled back into a ponytail that started too high on her otherwise blobby head, creating an effect like a handle, or perhaps the stem on a peculiarly pallid gourd. At her very best, she was creepy, childlike and bug-eyed.

She wanted to sing in the choir, and she had an attachment to me. She loved to sing duets with me, indeed I could never sing a solo because D was right there to warble along. Did I mention she had a small, flat, hollow voice? Singing with her made me feel like Harrison Bergeron, I had to hobble myself to keep from overpowering her. I hated singing with her, and I came to loathe her.

It being Church, leaving in a cab was not an option; indeed, I felt a certain duty to muster some Christian goodwill, or at least patience, since love was out of the question. But to make it even worse, she had an utter absence of acumen. However resolutely I neglected her, however coolly I greeted her, she never caught on that I did not like her, but she mooned about me, and latched, leech-like, onto me.

After an eternity of months, D got a new job that forced her to work Sunday mornings. As she tearfully bade us adieu, I smiled at her for the first time.