When Chief Money Maker asked me to wed, I warned him widowhood was the only way out. My stance on “til death do us part” remains firm after hearing these two dating stories from single friends.
Let’s call the first one Natasha because it’s the closest I’ll even come to writing Russian literature, and because my friend said she’d kill me if I used her real name. Natasha’s story could be titled, “How to Break-Up Like an Adult.” Then halfway through the story you’d have to add, “And Not Wake Up With Rug Burns.”
Natasha had been dating Vitaly—I like the Russian theme—for about ten months when the Love Goggles defogged. She knew “The Talk” would happen soon. She arrived at his house for a date. Looking for a little love before they met friends, she made a move. Vitaly slammed on the brakes and suddenly it was time for “The Talk” and a few adult beverages.
Then Natasha went from sober to Otis—that lovable drunk from the Andy Griffith show—in no time flat. One minute they were promising to remain friends and the next she was face-down on Vitaly’s bathroom floor swearing that she was in his kitchen. He finally conceded that all Russian kitchens have toilets.
Vitaly checked in on Natasha between the movie he watched, the cigar he smoked, and the baklava he made in the real kitchen. Eventually, Natasha crawled from the bathroom then face-planted on a tempurpedic mattress—also called “hallway carpet” by sober people.
The next morning, Natasha and Vitaly said good-bye. She arrived home and looked in the mirror at a mascara-smeared face and a rug-burned upper lip. That was the last image Vitaly had of Natasha.
Meanwhile, my other friend Christie—I can use her real name because she wants the police to have a trail if she’s murdered—tells me how she broke off her three-week relationship with Dude.
She went to Dude’s house where the plan was to watch a movie. She’d brought along some home-cooked dinner. Dude mentioned that he didn’t normally eat food prepared by women because it could contain arsenic. At this point, the only reason Christie stayed is because the pool of working men isn’t very large where she lives.
Then Dude told her he’d lost his job that day. Dude’s plan was to draw unemployment and disappear in the woods. She’d see him when she’d see him. At this point, the only reason Christie stayed is because the pool of non-working men with all their teeth isn’t very large where she lives.
The following morning, Dude took care of smelly biological functions…twice…with the bathroom door open while Christie lay in bed. At this point, the only reason Christie stayed is because the pool of non-working men with all their teeth that promised to disappear isn’t very large where she lives.
But when Dude accused her of lacing his food with arsenic, she had to draw the line. Nobody disses her dishes. She wondered how large the pool of working women with all their teeth that would appreciate a home-cooked meal was where she lives.
I’m reminded once again how good it is to be married with the option of widowhood.
© 2012 CThacker