“It’s hard on a fella when he don’t know his way around.” – Sam Cooke
For some strange reason all of the single guys I know are going insane. Take, for example, an acquaintance of mine. let’s call him Mr. Ex. Well, Mr. Ex recently (actually not so recently any more) broke up with his girlfriend. I suppose “got his ass dumped” might be a better description, but whatever. Apparently Mr. Ex has now taken to imposing his fist upon otherwise innocent plate glass windows in the late hours. It is also not entirely uncommon to find him, after an evening’s tipple, outside his ex girlfriend’s house gesturing and hurling a curious mixture of pious love and abject hatred upward toward her closed window.
Another acquaintance of mine, let us call him Mr. Why, seems to have fallen head over heels for a number of women, also acquaintances of mine. I can’t say I blame him in this. Who can resist an intelligent, pretty girl in the flower of her youth. They turn those large, dark eyes of theirs upon you with a smiling glance, and what’s a man to do but make an ass of himself? However Mr. Why would appear to be in a truly awful state. He has been heard carrying on conversations with nobody but himself. On more than one occasion he has exhibited a jealously of others that borders on mania and will not suffer his lady friends to discuss anything but himself. The whole thing is truly freakish and threatens to get worse.
My heart truly goes out to Messieurs Ex and Why. They are both obviously suffering from depression and, as far as I am aware, they are taking nothing for it, nor are they seeing any expert on mental illness.
Being a single man in his twenties can be difficult. Being a single man in his thirties is positively upsetting. I can speak to both of these facts from experience. However I have learned over the years that acting like an escaped mental patient does not increase one’s chances of striking lucky with members of the fair sex (apparently, acting like a complete fucking douchebag puts you in pretty good standing though).
And so I have a number of techniques which I use to avoid ending up like my unlucky friends. For example, it occasionally strikes me that standing on the roof of the tallest building I can find, in my underwear, and carrying a rifle and a bullhorn, might just get me the attention I am looking for. I am fairly certain that to at least daydream of such an act is fairly normal in a civilized society. Anyway, when this thought strikes me, I simply order a martini (preferably with a bleu cheese stuffed olive in it) and count my blessings instead. Messieurs Ex and Why might take a lesson from this and belly up to the bar.
I realize of course that any friends of mine who actually read this blog may give me a wary glance the next time I order a fresh round of martinis. However, that is their own problem. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go talk to a man about a drink.