Love Me, Love My Pussy

I was in the gym this morning and one of the women in there was trying to set up my buddy Pete with a friend of hers. This friend came highly recommended - personality, looks, her own house, intelligent and successful - but Pete has been at the dating game in St.Louis long enough to have become sceptical, bordering on cynical, about women in this age group.

St.Louis is supposed to be a crap city for dating - I don't have much experience because I imported my spouse when I came, but people I know have all said the same thing. Pete is smart, funny, employed, no baggage and in very good physical shape so he should be fishing in the "better" end of the St.Louis dating pond. He also looks about ten years younger than he is, which is handy because it gives him options in the "younger, smoother and less wrinkly" demographic. I don't get to hear a lot about his dating, in spite of the fact that we spend four hours lifting weights together every weekend, because we're blokes and therefore we don't share that kind of crap. Sitcoms where male friends talk about their dating problems and update each other on relationships are complete shit, and are obviously written by women (who want to believe men act like that) or sensitive new-age types (who are busy pretending that they act like that, so they can shag new-age women).

So back to the dating pond. Pete has clearly spent a lot of time with his rod in the water, if you know what I mean, and can pretty much see trouble coming. All the women in his pond are divorced (except maybe for a few who poisoned their husbands) and it's fair to say that many have "issues". So he's developed a few rules that he can apply at the outset to save wasting everyone's time. When he was getting the third degree on why he should date this woman's friend one of his first questions was "Does her life revolve around her pets?"

Most divorced women come with kids and he's therefore already condemned to have to sit through school plays, high school sports and concerts above and beyond the already-daunting quota you have to endure with your own kids. It must be like a Groundhog Day of school events - every new relationship clicks over and, guess what, we have to go and watch little Johnny's first football game. Again. Poor bastard, but it goes with the territory if he wants to ever get laid in the future. But he draws the line at cats and dogs.

Now let me say that I have nothing against pets - I'm very happy to meet other peoples', although the whole litter tray thing means I will never own a cat. But Pete is allergic, which is one problem. The other is that there's this whole group of women out there who will sleep with their pets, and whose whole life revolves around their perceived needs and wants. When you're ordering your life to accommodate some woman's cat's timetable then you know you should have just stayed at home and had a wank.

Why do women find this whole pet thing so endearing? They sleep with the dog, even though the last thing it did before coming to bed was to sniff another dog's arsehole and lick its own balls. It's your bed, for fuck's sake! Is it too much to ask that it be animal-free?

Apparently it is, because in St.Louis all divorced women seem to have cats. Pete therefore is faced with a dilemma: if he goes with a cat woman he's guaranteed that the relationship will end when he finally can't put up with her shit anymore, but if he holds off he's going to end up with balls like coconuts, which can't be good. My advice was to get some Claritin and get in there, but what the fuck do I know about the dating pond? I haven't been fishing for so long I think I've forgotten where I put my rod.


Copyright 2007 Edward Bison