Finding that right somebody is hard. Some would say it’s impossible. I’m with that “some.” The two sexes are just so different. For instance, whenever I wore one of my brother’s shirts, he never cared. But, boy, you’d think the world were ending if my sister caught me wearing one of her skirts.
Even the charges on our credit cards reveal a world of difference. An itemized bill for a girl might list shoes, spas, and hair stylists. A man’s? Hooters, Roid’s sports bar and Home Depot. At least women have something to show for their purchases. All men have are some hangovers and a monkey wrench.
Even with all our differences, for whatever reason, men and women tend to seek each other out. We go out, banter, small talk, tease, flirt, kiss and fight. Our hope is to find that special someone with whom to spend a lifetime. Or at least a couple of nights.
I’ve been married twice. The first time was when I was six years old. It only lasted a month. It was a bitter break up. My little five-year-old ex got the house in the tree, full custody of my stuffed animals and half my toys. Eventually, the tree house was struck by lightning and the stuffed animals found their way to Goodwill. I still keep in touch with the puffy panda.
I vowed I’d never get married again. I was wrong. Time, unfortunately, heals all wounds. My second marriage lasted seven years. I guess you could say I lived through The Great Depression. The day after the divorce was final, my wife and I became friends. I know I had faults. From the beginning of the marriage I started sleeping around: on the couch, in the garage, in the doghouse. It just depended how pissed off she was.
The other day I stopped by to see my ex-wife. I brought her some flowers: the little ones with the yellow petals and the beige arsenic powder speckled on them. When I got to her place, she was standing there holding her cat. My God, did that thing smell. She was hissing at me, her hair was all natty and she had fleas. Honestly, I don’t how the cat could stand being around her.
Not that I was husband of the year. I would always forget little things like taking out the trash, putting the toilet seat up or down, birthdays and anniversaries, coming home at night. I think if I ever get married again I’ll wed on Christmas Day. Whenever my wife says I forgot our anniversary I’ll say, “No, I didn’t! Remember that present you opened this morning?” If I can find a girl who was born on December 25th, I’ll be covered on all fronts.
And men, here’s another thing to keep in mind when you start dating: the first present you get your lover should be something simple. Like a pencil. It’s best to keep her expectations low. I once dated a girl for five years, and on our fifth anniversary I got her a box kite. Had I gotten her that kite in the first year, I might be looking at buying her a pair of shoes on the fifth year. Go cheap early.
As in any relationship, there is a time to love and a time to fight. Fighting happens quite a bit in a marriage. I’ve always thought a priest should never end a marriage ceremony with, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” but rather with, “Let’s get ready to rumble!”
The eventual break-up of my marriage wasn’t my fault, though. My wife actually ran off with my best friend. To this day, I’ve never been able to thank him enough. Whenever your best friend dates your wife, I don’t care who you are, it puts a crimp in the relationship. You spend half the day feeling sorry for him. I’ve always found that marriage is the quickest way to a divorce.
I live in a condo, and I’ve been seeing this girl for about three months now who lives in the apartment across the street. But that’s just ‘cause I have a pair of binoculars. What can I say? I enjoy window shopping.
It’s tough getting back out into the dating world. I’ve recently had some crazy dates. I put up an ad on an online dating service. I was up-front, honest and truthful. I said I wanted an old-fashioned girl who would stay at home and cook and clean for me. I got one “interested” response. It was from my mom. Maybe it was my profile picture of Tony Curtis that caught her eye.
I always wanted to find a girl just like my mom, but at this point I’m willing to settle for any girl who’s not my mom.
The last girl I went out with was not very bright. When I met her at the restaurant she was wearing big wooden shoes. I asked her why she was wearing them and she replied, “I thought you said we was going Dutch tonight.” Then, when we were looking at our menus, I asked her if she wanted to share something. She said, “Okay, when I was ten I French kissed my babysitter.” I told her I meant share something off the menu. Eventually, when the food came, she just stared at her meal for twenty minutes. I asked her what she was waiting for. She said she was just watching what she eats.
Sometime during the dinner she got up and went to the bathroom. As women are prone to do, she took her purse with her. Now, ladies, how do you think that makes us guys feel, sitting there, with nothing to rummage through?
I like women of all shapes and sizes. I went out with a chubby Oriental chick named Sue Wee. She was kind of shaped like Dodger Stadium, but that’s just a ballpark figure. She was a really nice person, and it didn’t matter that she had reverse anorexia. There was just more to love. Much more.
As our relationship progressed, Sue threw out that dreadful question: “Do you think I’m getting fat?” I didn’t want to make her feel bad, so I softly stroked her hair and said, “No honey, you’ve always been fat.” She told me she had recently lost twenty pounds and I made the mistake of gently responding, “Look behind you and you’ll find it.” (I thought women liked honesty in a man.) All in all, I did feel something for her. It was like magic every time I saw her. Magic was the only way I could explain how she got her butt into those jeans.
I once dated a really skinny girl. I’ll never forget the first time I held her. She felt so good between my fingers. I was playful, swinging her like a five iron. Sometime during the relationship we became engaged and she wore my ring. On her wrist. We eventually broke up and I heard she moved to Colorado to become a ski pole.
Another time, I went out with this lively Italian bella. This girl had beautiful, dark shiny hair. Unfortunately it was on her upper lip. Maybe I’m picky, but I only like a handlebar on a bike. Then I found out she was easy like Sunday morning. Her nickname was “fire sale”, because her pants were always half off. I hate to admit it, but I think that was a big reason why we lasted so long.
I don’t like people who cling to me, invade my space, and never leave me alone. That’s why I refuse to sleep with myself. I’m too needy. I like attention. I can have people talk about me all night long. Really. I’m riveted by the conversation, and sickened, too.
My dating life went through a dry spell for a while. I actually hired a maid just so I could tell my friends I have a girl over the house at least once a week. I was so hard up for some companionship that I took my living room lamp out to dinner: a cheap date, but she was extremely bright. The night went badly. I tried everything from compliments to sweet talk, but no matter what I said to the sexy lighting stand, I couldn’t turn it on. I got frustrated so I started drinking. Then I became drunk and ended up wearing her lampshade for half the night. Incidentally, the lamp thought I looked great in the dark.
Some time ago, I went out with a very sweet visually impaired person. Yeah, I guess you could say it was a blind date. I took her to a nice romantic restaurant and, as we were leaving McDonald’s, I began to drive her home. (Luckily, I was the one who drove.) Anyway, when we were in the car I felt this heaving, breathing and nibbling in my ear. So I turned to kiss her and it was her seeing-eye dog. I decided to drop the girl off and go out dancing with the dog. A week later the dog dumped me. Two weeks later I went to the doctor and got some bad news: the bitch had given me fleas.
Sometimes I’ll go fishing in a bar, trying to reel in an easy catfish. One time I saw this quiet, homely girl in the corner, sipping on a glass of wine. I got up my nerve, went over to her and said, “Excuse me, are you free this evening?” She smiled, and the next thing you know, we went back to her place. She had lied to me. She wasn’t free that night: she was $300 an hour.
I tried dating an older woman, but we only had one thing in common. She was looking for a rich man to support her and I was trying to figure out if her husband had died and left her any money. In the end, we didn’t work out. It’s tough to carry on a conversation when one of us is rambling on about senior discounts on pharmaceutical medications and the other is trying to describe a Family Guy episode.
I know I’m not great-looking. I’m not good-looking. I’m not even okay-looking. I’m just looking for someone who can tolerate me. Tolerance is a noble and rare quality. I would just like to find a woman who will (wink, wink) you know (wink, wink) go out in public with me.
Look, you never know whom life is going to throw your way. It’s easy to get lost trying to find someone. I know what women like: they’d like for me to leave ‘em alone. Finding the right person is a painstaking process. Before you settle down with someone, make sure that person is a friend, a lover, and a beautiful person.
So do what ya gotta do. And then tell me how to do it.
by Jeff Charlebois