If the choice is between holidays with the family or repeatedly jabbing a fork in my eye, someone pass me a fork.
This is NOT what they mean when they refer to the Passover questions.
“So, are you seeing anyone lately?”
“Anyone special in your life?”
“Are you dating anyone?”
Well, besides the guy I’m fucking on the Upper West Side, no. (On the inside.)
“No, no one special. I’m not really dating right now.” (On the outside.)
“Why, what’s the matter with you?” It’s always, “What’s the matter with you.” Like I’m some emotionally disfigured Chernobyl survivor.
I counted, and I’ve either been out on A DATE or DATED fifty-two men in the past year. FIFTY-TWO. That’s an average of one a week. That’s a lot of men. And I can honestly say I’m exhausted. Because it wasn’t one date a week. It was more like two to four dates a week and that’s a lot of running around on stilettos.
“You’ve gone out with so many people, and you haven’t been able to find one guy willing to date you?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Maybe you’re too picky? I mean, there can’t be something wrong with all of those guys. Maybe there’s something wrong with YOU.”
“Well, you know Grandma, I was dating for ten years before I met my ex-husband, and look how that turned out; it’s not easy to find someone to marry anymore.”
“What? You want to wait another ten years to get married? No one will marry you in ten years. No one wants to marry you now.”
Maybe the fork would look better in Grandma’s eye. (On the inside.)
“Grandma, don’t worry, I’ll find someone. I promise.” (On the outside.)
Yuk it up now God, because when I kill myself and go directly to Hell, I’m going to get all of my friends there together and then you’re in trouble. Oh yeah, I’m not afraid to threaten the big G. You goin’ down sucka!