Let's bypass Double's Posts uncomfortable adolescence for a moment, and enjoy a story from her uncomfortable young adulthood.

Double Post was livin' la vida loca, but she was poor. She had her own apartment and her own car and her own little bachelorette pad set up, but she was supporting this lavish lifestyle on a preschool teacher's salary.

So, when a young suitor invited her out one night and said he'd pick her up at 6:30 p.m., she jumped at the chance even though he didn't make her heart go pitter-patter. A date as early as 6:30 would certainly mean dinner, right? That would help stretch her budget a bit, and who knows? He could turn out to be a diamond in the rough.

He picked her up promptly at 6:30 p.m. When asked where they were headed, he replied, "The Name of Some Disco That I Can't Remember." (That's not what he actually said; he gave the real name. But I don't remember it, so...)

Not only was disco already quite passé, but discos did not serve dinner. At least, this dingy dive of a dying dance club CERTAINLY did not.

What the place lacked in food, it made up for in mirrors. For the rest of the evening, the guy danced with his back to my sister, admiring his own moves in the mirror. I guess SOMEONE had to admire them; the place was nearly empty, and even at full capacity, his moves would not have impressed anyone.

Double Post informed Mr. Wonderful that she had to go home. Not only did she have to work the next day, but she hadn't eaten dinner yet. Not picking up on the subtle clue contained in this piece of information, they got into his car and squealed out of the parking lot.

"Are you sure you want to go home?" he asked, leering at her. "You could come home with me. I was kind of planning on it."

"No," she said firmly and without bothering to hide her disgust. "I want to go home."

He shrugged his polyester-clad shoulders as if to say, "Your loss," and put the car in reverse. Upon reaching her apartment, he reiterated his fabulous offer to have sex with him. Astonishingly, she rebuffed him again, slammed the car door and marched home.

Twenty minutes later, as she sat up in bed eating tomato soup and saltine crackers and reading a novel, her telephone rang. It was Mr. Fabulous, improving his earlier offer.

"You can still change your mind, you know," he murmured lustily into the phone. "I really planned on you spending the night. I bought pork sausages for breakfast..."

Apparently the offer of a breakfast including (then) 79 cent frozen brown and serve sausages proved an irresistable draw for some women. Double Post placed her value somewhat higher. To the great disappointment of the Sausage King, he was turned down again. My sister proved far too difficult to please, much too high maintenance, for him.

So, once again, Double Post failed to find love.

I wonder if the Sausage King ever did?