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A Little Something For The Rest Of Us by Bob Church
The dynamics for finding a mate have never been simple. Some bizarre cosmic master plan dictates that the male of the species must find unique ways to impress the female before ever being allowed to engender his magnificence and spread his seed. If a chance occurrence I witnessed last night is a true indication of current mating rituals in contemporary society, I'm convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that our species is embarked upon an irrevocable one-way journey to extinction. Having just finished watching the Sugar Bowl on the tube and realizing that the NCAA football season is now over (along with most of my reasons to live), I felt the need for a drink. So I walked down to the corner bar and ordered a Dewars and water. Of course, I had to explain to the recent liberal arts graduate/bartender that it was the yellow-labeled bottle on the top shelf, and that if he'd pour an ounce or two into a wide-mouth glass filled with ice and bring it to me, I'd give him money… but that's a story for another time. A rather striking (dare I say comely?) young woman sat on a stool within earshot of me, flipping her hair in sensual demonstrations I took to indicate availability and several young men evidently felt the same way, because in the thirty minutes I sat there, she rebuffed a half dozen or so. I saw her check her watch, finish her drink and start to grab her coat. Then, as if on cue, a young guy walked up to her, took her coat and helped her put it on, engaging her with the following rhetoric: "I'm glad you're leaving. Okay, so I came over here to ask you to reconsider and stay long enough to dance with me, but, frankly, I'm a little concerned. I mean, we could hit it off really well, and next thing you know you're giving me your number because I'm too shy to ask for it, I finally get up the nerve to call and we take in a movie, have some dinner, I relax, you relax, we go out a few more times, get to know each other's friends, spend a lot of time together, then finally get past this sexual tension and really develop this intense sex life that is truly incredible, decide our relationship is solid and stable and move in together. Then a few months later we get married, I get a promotion, you get a promotion, we buy a bigger house. You really want kids and I really only want my freedom, but we have a kid anyway, only to find that I'm resentful, the sparks start to fade and to rekindle them we have two more lovely kids, but now I work too much to keep up with the bills, have no time for you, you're stressed and stop taking really good care of yourself, so to get past our slow sex life and my declining self-confidence I turn to an outside affair for sexual gratification. You find out because I'm careless and a lousy liar, you throw me out (justifiably so) and we have to explain to the kids why mommy and daddy are splitting up. That's just too sad. Think about the children. For God's sake, if you dance with me and we hit it off, let's just keep it sexual, because we both know where it's going." I'm not sure but I think he hypnotized her, because she took off her coat and they headed for the dance floor. I'll pray for them… and for us. Bob Church©2008 For more from Bob visit his other stories: January, December, November, & October; his columns: January, November, October; and his poetry: November, and October. |
Cheshire Cat
Nothin' Better
Songs
of
I realize full well, in fact, maybe too well, that
Valentine's Day holds a special significance to the inhabitants
of our continent. I still celebrate it, to one extent or another,
with my bride of long standing, and I appreciate the importance
the female of the species attaches to it. If you forget her birthday,
you're a beast… forget your anniversary and you're an asshole…
but forget Valentine's Day and it'll take you months to chip
the frost off the woman enough to spend an evening in the same
room. And I'm one of the lucky ones…
