Do We Need Cynar? 5

July 16, 2010

No? Was that a No, I would love to help if I had the money? Or: No, I have the money but I don’t want to give it to you? Am I allowed to feel shitty about this? Should I have expected more? Doesn’t he owe me? Didn’t I make him talk to that tipsy girl at Dave’s BBQ and didn’t they get together later that night, and when he asked me later what I thought of her, didn’t I say Go for it even though she seemed petty and she was rambling about her ex the PhD candidate and wouldn’t let anyone else speak? How do I remember this: wasn’t the ex researching rape in rap lyrics and literature and didn’t she say it was a turn-on at first but then it got weird because he treated sex like rape? And didn’t things go perfectly for Karen and Mike? Wasn’t it the kind of perfect relationship you never hear about? How long did it take before people were referring to them as Karen and Mike or Mike and Karen? After two months weren’t they all Gilbert and George and Tim and Eric and Laurel and Hardy? Is it pathetic when the bundling happens so quickly or is it what we secretly want?

Who else has money? Or should I just pack it in and become a bartender? But shouldn’t I beg for another month? So: Who else has money? Would the wife’s parents step up? Didn’t her dad pay for the honeymoon but after that: I only have love for you two, capice? CAPICE? Was he a dick when he was a teenager or did he gradually become one as he made money? If the restaurant does well and we get money will I become a dick too? And would that be so terrible?

Oh what would sort fury would there be if I asked him before consulting the wife?

-Hey Jealousy is going under.

-I figured. It’s the crowd. HJ doesn’t appeal to thirty-somethings. Real people with money.

-You might be right. But you have to stop calling it HJ. HJ means handjob.

-Who cares what I call it? At this rate there’s not gonna be an It to call HJ, so what does it matter? I’ll call it Failuretown Bistro if I want.

-Why are you such a stick in the mud?

-Oh don’t even, Richard. You should serve more seafood. And nix all that taxidermy. And get some pretty servers and bartenders, for Chrissakes.

-We have pretty girls.

-No you don’t. What’s that one girl’s name? Emma?

-Just M. The letter.

-Case in point. She’s not helping. She always look like she’s smirking.

-That’s just what her face looks like. I like it, actually.

-Oh you do? Would you want me to start smirking all the time?

-Maybe.

-Good. I’ll start smirking so I’ll look more like M. the smirking bartender whom my husband has a crush on.

-At this point, I don’t care what you do.

-Good.

-Oh. So. Do you think your parents would want to invest–

-Are you serious?

-I’m sorry.

-Fuck Richard, probably not. But yes, I can call them.

-Sweet.

-SWEET. This is what you say? SWEET? JESUS H.

-Sorry. How about: thank you, wife.

-Do you know how much stress you bring into our life?

-Yes.

-Good. Because you’re a shitstorm of stress. You’re a dumb erect stress-dick.

-I know.

-Every time you come to me with anything, it’s always: Nobody’s buying the pork loin. M.’s sick again and Robbie can’t cover. The cheese plates are better at Marlow and Sons. Everything that comes out of your mouth is a bitchy lump of shit and it’s giving me pain. Never once do I hear: It’s a beautiful day so I’m going to take my wife to one of the many parks this city has to offer and I’m going to use my culinary skills and put together a picnic and then I’ll romance her the way I used to and then she’ll thank me the way she used to.

-Oh Good Lord.

-No. No. It’s valid. Blowjobs prevent divorce, you know.

-Who said anything about divorce?

-No one. You know, after you whined about Cynar the other day I had to get a massage, and the masseuse said, What do you like? and you know what I said? I said, I need you to rub out the Richard. And she said, Who’s Richard? And I said, he’s my husband and he’s knotting up my shoulders with his bullshit attitude.

-Did it work?

-Yeah. Jessica’s the best.

-Good. So you’ll call your parents?

-Later.

NEXT: All This Nonsense Started When They Stopped Letting Cigarettes Advertise On TV

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