George was a youngish, successfulish man with a serious problem. One that was currently keeping him very, very awake despite an early meeting the next morning.
He was in love with a woman named Jane. That wasn't the problem, though. The problem was that as part of an attempt to convince her to go out on a date with him, he sent her a song. An old, daggy song that he suspected she'd find cute. And it got her attention alright. THAT was the problem.
The song? Five Hundred Miles.
(I would walk five hundred miles,
and I would walk five hundred more,
just to be the man who walked a thousand miles
just to be with you)
The problem? In a fit of female perversity, Jane told him to prove it. If he walked a thousand miles to be with her, she'd go on a date with him.
George swore and punched a pillow.
What to do? Accept the ridiculous challenge for a meagre chance at a date, or back down and forever lose any chance with Jane? Was this woman really THAT special? Wasn't it just typical for a woman to take a nice sentiment and turn it into a huge issue?
George suddenly pictured his grandfather, smirking at him and saying, “Time to shit or get off the pot, youngster!” It'd been one of the old codger's favourite phrases, and it was irritatingly appropriate right now. He sighed, made a decision and sat up.
Out at the computer, he logged onto a budget airline website and booked a one-way ticket to Albury-Wodonga, for the next Saturday. The destination was a spur-of-the-moment whimsy. Jane grew up in the little cityette, and it happened to be almost exactly 1600 km – 1000 miles – from their current life in Brisbane. Time to shit.
