Dear Katy,
I am 25 years old and consider myself a sensible young woman. I know that the world is not perfect, and neither am I. I realize that I may never find a man who meets my standards in every way, and I am mature enough to accept that and move on with my search for happiness. Happiness, which I, being sensible and mature, realize will never be perfect happiness but will hopefully be high on the happiness scale, maybe an 8.5, but I am willing to settle for even less, assuming that I am in love. Not perfect love, but pretty good love.
My boyfriend, who I will call Frank, is a heck of a swell guy. We have been dating for six months now, and if he has a lick of sense, I expect him to pop the question soon. Pop the question – as though a question were a bubble of some sort, or a balloon. Isn’t that so odd. If a question pops, does it cease to exist, or is the popping sound forever ingrained, somewhere in the brain… I think it’s the medulla. But I digress.
When I first met my boyfriend Frank (who really is named Frank, but I thought wouldn’t it be clever if I said ‘who I will call Frank’ because then the only person who wouldn’t be a suspect of my query would be Frank) was a 9, or maybe even a 9.1. Not perfect, mind you, but way up there, only a point (give or less a tenth) away from perfection, which I suppose, is as much as I have any right to expect. I mean, I’ve quit believing in fairy tales.
Lately, however, I have begun to skew him downwards because he is just so judgmental. This is a trait that I don’t care much for in a man, and once it began to rear it’s ugly head, I started revising downwards. He now stands at an 8.2, which if you have been following me, is a bit shy of my threshold.
Let me
give an example. Recently we were eating at a lovely restaurant named
Hiding my feelings, I asked ‘Frank’ why he chose the lamb chops, and he said that it was because lamb chops were the best food in the whole wide world. He called them ‘the bomb’. Can you believe that? ‘Perhaps I don’t share your fondness for lamb chops’, I thought to myself. I ordered the scallops au gratin, which I only ended up picking at.
So my question to you is this, Katy. Should I try to overlook Frank’s harsh and judgmental nature? (Lest you think this is an isolated incident, last night he told me that Pink Floyd was the best band ever. I don’t even like them.) I am still young, as I said, one score and five years. Should I settle for an 8.2? That seems awfully low to me. Forget that I asked.
No, tell me. I want to be sensible, not judgmental like ‘Frank’.
Sign me as,
Weighing My Options
Dear Chronic,
I've read between the lines of your sensible and mature query, and by this I
mean the actual space between the lines, the soothing void free of your vast
fatuous yammer, (I started glazing over somewhere between Dear Katy and the ','
and had to slap myself nearly blind to stay upright) and then I had someone
else too drunk to care read aloud from your letter while another 'specialist',
equally inebriated and without a sense of shame, acted out your part, dressed
as a sphincter. I think it was then that I really began to understand.
My friend Ben has hit
rock bottom. That perfect pink pucker parading around happy hour yelling 'One
Score and Five Years Ago' in a falsetto, in front of a bar full of big hairy
football fans... It wasn't pretty. Sadly, he's probably only a few half racks
of Hamms away from regarding these as his glory days.
What you are really asking though is, 'Is it okay to masturbate?' Yes, it is
perfectly natural. It is, in fact, your only hope for achieving physical and
emotional fake fulfillment in this lifetime. You can get something in the 8.5
and bigger range and not have to watch it slaver all over lamb chops while
using words like 'the bomb' in public; It might take you up to 3 score or more
years to achieve an orgasm, but at least you won't have to listen to Pink Floyd
while you try.
You're Welcome,
Katy
