Why is dancing the thing they always want to do? Do they actually enjoy it or do they just want people to look at them and their man? Are they thinking, “Look at us, we like to do it with our clothes in front of other people”? Do they secretly want to do it in public? Would M. do it in a karaoke bar again or was one time enough for a lifetime?

Why hasn’t the wife asked me to go dancing lately? Has she given up on me? Or is she going dancing with other dudes behind my back? How many times have we gone dancing, ever? Three? And wasn’t only one time fun? Was it at that Spanish restaurant? Argentinean? And wasn’t there a dark room in the back where people were tangoing? Or was it waltzing? And didn’t the women have to wear spikes to go on the dance floor, but the wife didn’t have spikes? And she approached an older lady who was sitting down and smoking and said, “I’m sorry, but I really want to dance and I don’t have the right shoes. What size are you?” And didn’t the women look me up and down approvingly and say, “How about this: I dance with him first and then you borrow my shoes?” And didn’t I say that I don’t know how to tango and didn’t the old lady say, “Do know how to make love? If so, you can tango”? And didn’t the wife say, “ He does sometimes”? And didn’t the old lady want to dance for two songs because, she said, “One song is never enough, is it?” Didn’t she grab my arm like she was trying to hurt me? Like my arm had done something terrible to her? Was she doing that because that’s how she always dances or do some older people live harder because they didn’t live very hard when they were younger? Was she sick or something and had “tango with a young man” on her bucket list? And didn’t she kiss my neck after the second song and wasn’t it kind of awesome? When she took off her shoes and gave them to the wife, weren’t they too big, or too small? And when the wife tried to dance wasn’t she pathetic? Knees buckling, face contorting, all the things tangoers shouldn’t do? But didn’t she say, “We’re going to tango, dammit”? But did we? Is it called tangoing if it’s barely tangoing? A legitimate tangoer wouldn’t call it tangoing, would he? We did whatever we were doing for three songs and then didn’t the wife say something sweet like, “I don’t care if we’re bad at this as long as you’re with me” and didn’t I say something sweet like, “I’d dance a shitty tango with you every night if I could”?

Do you take the mistress dancing? Do you take the employee you’re throwing it to dancing? Does she want to dance for the sake of dancing or does she want to dance to make herself feel better about the whole thing? So she can say to her friends: “Yeah my boss is throwing to me but at least he took me dancing”? Does M. have friends? Is her boss who’s also throwing it to her her only friend?

Will I still throw it to her after Hey Jealousy goes under?

Has the wife called her folks yet? Should I even ask?

-What did they say? Wait. Don’t tell me. I’m in a good mood for once.

-OK. I won’t tell you then.

-So they did say something?

-Yes.

-Good news or bad news?

-It’s definitely news.

-Tell me.

-The answer is: Yes. They’ll help out.

-Oh my god are you serious?

-Yes. They said yes, I can’t believe it. Maybe this will give them something to talk about. After being married for fifty years you only talk about friends who’ve died and what kind of fruit they have at the grocery. Oh. But there are conditions.

-Conditions?

-Big conditions. You might not like them.

-They want to change the menu?

-You should change the menu anyway, but that’s not it. It’s my nephew, Zachary. They want him to be assistant manager. It’s kind of ridiculous, but they said they wouldn’t help unless you took him under your wing.

-Have I met him?

-Maybe once, at Don’s birthday two years ago. He’s 25. He goes by Z., which everyone in the family hates. He graduated a while ago and now he’s just floating and Don and Rachel don’t really care and give him money but mom and dad want him to grow up.

-So they’re buying him a job? Because that’s growing up – being told you’re an assistant manager at a dying restaurant? Does he even want to do it?

-Yeah he does. He already has a job, kinda. He makes shirts. But it’s just costing Don money.

-Oh, right right right. Your nephew who makes the shitty shirts. I think he got my email address at Don’s thing and sent me his site. I bought one that said Sorry Is A Word For The Unmindful.

- Sorry is a word for the unmindful?

-Dumb, right? It’s like, you shouldn’t say you’re sorry about stuff because you should be mindful of the fact and self-aware that your words… I don’t even know, it doesn’t matter. But man, that kid is the worst.

-He means well. He had a weird childhood. Effing Don wrote that My Dad Rocks book and it fucked him up. Have you read that?

-Parts, while shitting.

-It’s pretty bad, but he made a fortune off it. Here, I’m gonna go find it. If he’s gonna be your employee maybe you should read the book.

-That makes no sense whatsoever.

-I was kidding.

-I never know with you, and we’ve been married how long?

[The wife is in the bathroom now and can’t hear him. She comes back into the living room carrying a copy of My Dad Rocks.]

-Here you go. Homework.

-I can’t read this, it’s disgusting. It’s got that urine-y film on it from being in the shitter all these years.

-No it doesn’t.

-Yes, feel it. When a book stays in the bathroom for a while it’s gets a film on it. All the piss and shit particles that are released in the air settle on the paper. Here, rub its cover and then smell your hand.

-Fine. [and she does just that.] I don’t smell anything.

-Taste your hand then.

-No.

-Just do it.

-Even if the book hadn’t been in the bathroom I wouldn’t touch it and then taste my hand. It’s gross.

-You’re gross.

-You’re gross.

-No you are.

-I wanna make you gross right now.

[And they get gross in the living room.]

NEXT: The Fox In The Garage Part 9: The Ocelot Dress

Are these the softest sheets I’ve ever had sex on? What kind of sheets are these?

- What kind of sheets are these?

-Pima.

-Pee-ma? How do you spell that?

-P. I. M. A. Pima.

-Are they expensive?

-They were a gift.

-From whom?

-An old boyfriend. My old sheets gave him a rash, he said, so he bought me new ones. I don’t think they actually gave him a rash. He probably just wanted an excuse to buy me something nice.

-That’s nice.

-You’ve never bought me anything.

-I buy you your salary.

-A salary is not a gift. You could buy me something once and a while. Something little.

-Like what?

- Something little.

-Like a key chain?

-Fine. A key chain.

-FINE. Fine is not fine. You understand. I’m in a tough spot here. I can’t buy you anything big because someone could notice and a big gift could send the wrong signal: Here is a fancy bracelet, which means I want to leave the wife for you. Or: Here is a necklace, but if someone sees it you have to say it’s from your mother or an ex and you only recently started wearing it for some reason. See what I mean?

-Fine.

-But if I get you a small gift like a key chain, it’d be a joke and you’ll think that I think that our Thing is a joke. And I don’t think that. Honestly, I don’t. Maybe you do.

-I don’t think we’re a joke.

-Good. What about a nice meal? I could cook for you. Pork tenderloin maybe. And a good wine.

-That’s not a gift.

-It’s funny you say that because the other day the wife was saying how much she’d love for me to put together a picnic for her like I used to. Years ago when I gave a shit about shit I’d get some brie and some good bread and a bottle of rosé and maybe some porchetta and put it all in a basket and we’d go to a park and eat and sit for hours and listen to an iPod with one bud in my ear and one in hers. It was all very cute.

-Sounds like it.

-And we’d fool around in the grass. It was like one of those paintings with a satyr and a what’s-it-called? and they’re both drunk and getting frisky in a meadow. Once a month or so we’d do this and sometimes another couple we barely knew would see us, maybe a friend of hers from school, and the dude and I would bullshit about beer or whatever and the girls would talk real estate. I swear I’ve had the same conversation about Dogfish Head IPA and what the difference is between the 60- and 90- and 120-minute and which ones we like more because all these dudes read a few articles on Wikipedia and they start to fashion themselves beer experts so when they get one-on-one with a guy who works in the food industry they get all foodie and try to impress him: I like the hoppier one, which is that, the 120-minute? But that’s just me. They sample a few good beers and now they have a license to bullshit about good beer but really, they don’t know anything, like, absolutely nothing, and before they sample an absurdly wide variety of shit they should keep their mouths shut because they’ll make asses of themselves in front of their girlfriends and the sad part is, their girlfriends don’t even realize what asses they are making of themselves. They think: Oh, that’s my man, talking about beer like he always does. He’s such a wealth of knowledge. Such a well-rounded man of the world. NO, lady, your man doesn’t know anything. He has been on the internet before and he’s had Dogfish Head a few times. That’s it. And in a more honest society I would have said: Listen man, I appreciate your interest in what I do but talking to you about IPAs is like… it’s like… Oh I don’t know, Keith Richards talking about the blues to a deaf baby, you know.

-You’re the Keith Richards of good beer?

-No. But these dudes, they’ve had whatever beer is on tap at those five good bars they go to and all of a sudden they fashion themselves beer experts. And I have to nod and agree and pretend like they have valuable opinions, and I have to educate these idiots instead of saying: This is dumb. This is a waste of time. My wife and I going home to have sex now and it will be much more interesting than talking to you about beer. Why can’t a dude just say that? It’s what we’re thinking anyway. It’s probably what he’s thinking, too. He’s thinking: Alright, we both don’t want to talk to each other but this guy runs a restaurant so he’ll want to talk about beer and I’ll tell him that my bro prefers the 90-minute but I’m hard enough to handle the 120-minute. It’s all a weird sort of round-about foreplay. I’m only talking to this guy for my wife and he’s talking to me for his wife. I’m doing it so she can talk to her kinda-friend about who’s moved to which neighborhood and they can keep their see-ya-once-a-year friendship in tact even though they’re both thinking: There is a reason I see this person once a year: we don’t like talking to each other, but I’m doing it so I’ll come off as social so the next time the couple sees another couple at a thing they ask about us the couple we saw in the park will say: Oh, they’re doing very well. And the dude who’s hosting will tell that other dude the thing that Richard prefers the 90-minute Dogfish Head but man oh man, I just can’t get enough of that 120-minute. Thinking of that hoppy 120-minute IPA makes me so fucking hard and I swear to God I’ll ream anyone who gets between me and my six-pack of Dogfish Head. HEY HONEY. Bring out the 120-minute IPA. Richard just got here and I’m trying to convert him. I’m gonna make him a 120-minute man. Where is it? It’s in the garage? Well I can’t get it. I’m busy talking to the what’s your last name again? I’m one of those people who are SO BAD with names oh Jesus H. we have so much fun at parties. Honey, maybe we should have kids after all so they can run out to the garage and grab the beer while we’re entertaining guests. You want to? Grrreat. Let’s get to the fucking then. Party’s over. Get these assholes out of our house. Or you know what? Let them stay. What 120-minute man doesn’t like to watch his bro fuck? Get the hummus off the table so we can fuck on it.

- Do you have a therapist? Because you should definitely have one.

-What? Am I wrong?

-You’re not wrong, just unoriginal. Do you think you’re the first person to have these types of opinions and feelings?

-Maybe I’m not.

-You’re definitely not. This is all standard-issue shit and frankly, it’s pretty boring and depressing. So. What time is it?

-I should go.

-OK. I’ll be in around three today. Robbie told me we’re probably going under and I’ve already started asking around. Oh, and fuck you for not telling me.

-I was going to.

-Right. So. That was probably the last time.

-What do you mean, the last time?

-The last time we’re going to have sex. I don’t think I can sleep with someone who has such predictable outbursts like that. It’s bad for me for a number of reasons.

-That was a fluke. I’m sorry. What if I bought you earrings?

-Take me dancing and I’ll reconsider.

NEXT: The Story Of Gary And Me So Far

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

What’s wrong with Slinky? Is Slinky no good because Slinkies are objects and the last thing she wants is to be objectified? Or is it because a slinky is a toy and she doesn’t want to be something I play with and boys love their toys until they get sick of them and forget about them and then they move on to a better toy? Or: A slinky is a hollow and kinda like a tube and she’s thinking that I’m calling her Slinky because her vagina is like a slinky and she doesn’t me to think of her as something with a vagina, or does she?

But if I stop calling her Slinky then aren’t I a pushover? Shouldn’t we pick a name for our women and stick with it no matter how much they hate it? Won’t the back-and-forth keep things fun? Won’t it keep us young? Won’t we forever be kids kicking each other under the desk in elementary school? Does she want Us to be young and cute or serious and—? French? Don’t the French only have serious affairs? Wasn’t that waitress seriously eyeing me outside the Pompidou? And why didn’t I say anything? Why couldn’t I talk to women unless I was half-drunk until I was 27? Why did it take me 27 years to grow a pair? Why was Robbie blessed with a pair? How do Puerto Ricans grow a pair so early? Is it all the dancing? Should I have re-watched that YouTube video of Latin children grinding at a birthday party?

Goddamnit, why does Robbie need to chat right now?

-Hey boss, the cheese guy called.

-Fuck.

-He says you’ll need to need pay cash upon delivery from now on.

-OK. OK. No problem.

-He’s coming by at four today and he seemed pissed.

-When he comes, tell him to come back Sunday.

-You don’t have the money?

-No. I have it. I have it. But tell him to come Sunday and see what he says.

-Dude. Tell me right now if I should be looking for a new job.

-You should start looking for a new job. But don’t quit yet, and don’t tell M.

Who has money? Who’s rolling in it that I haven’t pissed off? The Gersons? Are the Gersons still angry about three years ago? It was a Bat Mitzvah, so wasn’t everyone drunk? Or was I the only drunk person at Rachel Gerson’s Bat Mitzvah? When Rachel talks about her Bat Mitzvah years from now will she say, And there was this drunk guy who danced with my great aunt and he spilled Prosecco all over her? Prosecco doesn’t stain so wasn’t it a good thing that I spilled Prosecco on her because it gave Rachel Gerson a story to tell later? Don’t the Gersons appreciate good food? Don’t they know I’m nothing without my cheese boards? Who doesn’t want to invest in farm-to-table cuisine? They haven’t come in for dinner in a while but aren’t they in Oregon half the year now? Of course: last New Year’s he talked about their house on the water in the chin of Oregon, or is it the lip? And didn’t he say their house is the second-most-westerly building in the lower 48 states? And they’d planted Douglas Hawthorns and Western Bleeding Hearts and Karen told us her dad had said “Bleeding Hearts? How appropriate. My daughter is married to a liberal pussy” which was the end of a story that took Karen forever to tell and somehow cracked up the room or was it a good story and am I just a grump who only wants people to laugh at things I say?

Will I ever live in the Pacific Northwest?

-Hi, is this Karen?

-Richard, long time, no talk. How is everything, how’s HJ?

Why does she call Hey Jealously HJ? Doesn’t she know that HJ = hand job?

-Is Mike home?

-What, you don’t want to chat?

-No, no, how is everything, how’s Rachel?

-She’s great, I’m just messing with you, here’s Mike.

-Richard?

-Mike!

-Hey buddy.

-How’s the chin of Oregon?

-Amazing. So amazing. And you? How’s Brooklyn?

-Same old. It is the chin, right? Not the lip or the nose?

-It’s the chin, and it’s heaven man. So get this: this morning I’m out pissing in the woods and a fucking salamander crawls right over my foot.

-Cool.

-Yeah, I know. I could feel its slime between my toes. Well, maybe not slime, it’s not a slug, but I could feel its wetness on my toes. And at first I was like, this fucker’s gonna get it and I was gonna kill it.

-Right.

-But I didn’t. I didn’t kill it. And I’m not sure why.

-It’s the chin.

-The chin?

-Living on the chin has made you softer. More empathic.

-Maybe you’re right.

-It’s like you used to be a hard urbanite and now you’re an earthy man. Now you’re a calm, generous man.

-You might be onto something.

-Do you feel different?

-Not really. The pot’s different, it’s better, but that’s about it. Oh, I’ve been drinking chamomile tea.

-Well you sound different, more relaxed.

-That’s good to hear.

-So.

-So what’s up?

-OK so this is gonna sound, and don’t think I was just calling just because. How would like you invest in the restaurant?

Next: Cool Dads

-Hey Slinky, that’s a nice bracelet.

-Excuse me?

-I said that’s a nice bracelet.

-I heard you, but did you call me Slinky?

-What? No good?

-That’s not allowed.

-Too soon for names?

-You can give me a name, but Slinky is not allowed.

-What’s wrong with Slinky?

-If you don’t see anything wrong with Slinky, then I feel sorry for you.

-It’s because your body resembles a slinky when you hang over my bed and look for your bra after we have sex. Like a slinky hanging over a step.

-That just made everything so much worse.

-Well, I thought it was cute. Anyway. The Dead Guy needs to be changed.

-You change it.

-Now, Slinky.

-Fine.

Next: I Could Have Spent More Time On Her

-Now add the Cynar. Why is your hand shaking?
-It’s not shaking.
-Yes, it is. And now the gin.

Is M. actually nervous or does she have the shakes? Should I tell her to drink less or let her figure it out? Day drinking: a problem in the restaurant industry or part of the fun? Why are M.’s thumbs so thin? Do a woman’s hands come from her father’s side or her mother’s side? Where is Science on that one? What’s her father like? Did he never tell her what to do and is that why she doesn’t listen to anyone and wears idiotic clothes? Why won’t she help me out and teach Robbie how to make a Harrumph? Does she actually not want to or is she testing me? Is she thinking, Does he like women who order him around?

-Now add the Cynar.
-Got it.
-And now the gin.
-That’s easy.
-M. had some trouble.
-Women.
-What does that mean?
-I don’t know. I actually think M’s great.
-So do I.
-I can see that.

He can see that? Did he see us come out of the bathroom together last week? Why was he at work so early? Is Robbie using the restaurant for unsavory purposes? Dealing? Gambling? Has Robbie jacked off on the clock? Am I paying this boy to jack off in the bathroom? Where will he work once we go under? He says he wants to get into PR but he’s too fat, right? Could he be a teacher? Could he hush a room of rowdy kids? Could he treat the dim kids as well as the smart kids? Would he favor the poor athletic ones because he grew up poor and athletic or would he realize all these kids deserve a fighting chance? Would he sleep with a teacher? And the next day would he nod sweetly as he passed her in the hall or would he treat her as if nothing happened? Does Robbie get any or is he all talk?

-So I got with this girl Saturday.
-Nice.
-Not really. She wanted me to call her a shithead. During.
-Really?
-Yeah, and when I said I didn’t want to, she started calling me a shithead. And she said I fuck like a shithead.

Would the wife like to be called shithead? How about a stick in the mud? Why do I call her pony? And why does she let me? Should a man call his wife a pony in mixed company or is that strictly for the bedroom? Do I need a name for M.? Is slinky apt? Doesn’t she resemble a slinky when she hangs over the bed and looks for her clothes, like a slinky hanging over a step?

Next: Gary 2 Got With a Ladybot

My wife comes home tipsy and says:

-Have you heard of Cynar?

-I think so. No I haven’t.

-Interesting.

-What’s interesting?

-That you run a bar and you don’t know Cynar. It’s an artichoke liqueur.

-I haven’t heard of everything.

-Don’t you keep up?

-I keep up. I read my sites.

-What sites?

-You wouldn’t know them.

-What sites?

-Webtender, for one.

She takes out her phone and goes to Webtender and laughs.

-What’s wrong with Webtender?

-Nothing.

-Why are you so into Cynar?

- We were just at the Fear and the bartender made us a drink called the Harrumph. It’s gin, soda, something else, and Cynar, and I asked him what Cynar was and we chatted and I told him you run Hey Jealousy. He loves your burger.

-We do a good burger.

Do we need Cynar? Is Hey Jealousy the type of bar that serves Cynar? Am I the type of the guy who runs a bar that has Cynar? Could I make my own version of the Harrumph and give it another name? The Hound Dog? The Wife? Why am I not a creative person? Would people order it? What would it cost? Will we continue to lose more and more money? What will I do once the bar goes under? What are my talents, and where are these green jobs? Is it too early for us to have Cynar? Too late? Who else has Cynar? Who could I call at New York Beverage?

-Brian. I have a question. Who’s getting Cynar?

-Most people. You’re not?

-Why would I?

-For Harrumphs. How are you making Harrumphs?

Was 25 bottles too much? How long will they last? Till 2030? Will I be alive in 2030? Will I be married? Will someone I know from school be president? Andrew Yingling? Does he have the cojones? Are we still calling them cojones? Am I the type of guy who says cojones whether or not other people are calling them cojones? Do I have the cojones to sleep with M. again? Will she be impressed when I tell her we’re adding a new drink even though it’s not a new new drink? Are there any new new drinks to be made? Will I have to show her and Robbie how to make it or could they learn online? Have I ever taught anyone anything before?

Next: I More or Less Wrote That Song