Thursday, September 5, 2013
My Problem with Gold Diggers
One of the sad facts of my romantic life, such as it is, is I'm tired of being dumped by gold diggers. I mean, I get it, some ladies are in it for the riches. Then they find out ... certain things about me being financially embarrassed ... and, once again, it's the old heave-ho.
If you're wondering, Why don't the gold diggers just talk among themselves, compare notes, and thereby avoid me all together? The answer is, Gold diggers are a particularly catty species. If their fellow gold diggers are busy being disappointed, that frees up the better territory for the others. You know what I ought to do? Next time I'm dumped, I should wear a big sign around my neck: "Financially embarrassed." That'd show her! Not only would she be embarrassed in front of the others, she'd lose any advantage over the better territory, and it'd save the other gold diggers the trouble of messing with me. It'd be win-win all around!
Take a look at the line-up of dancers at Gus' Revue d'Paris de Beauregard, a little joint in Des Moines. I was most recently seeing the blonde. But now I'm dumped. So I'll probably be seeing brown and red in short order, since the blonde won't be telling them my troubles. Have you ever been financially embarrassed? It's as crappy as it sounds. Still, it keeps me up nights, mostly worrying, so at least I'm doing OK with that.
I know what you're wondering. I've heard it from a few guys over at the Salvation Army, where I've stayed the last couple weeks. Why are these high-flying specimens of feminine wiles interested in me in the first place? Because Gus and I were old school buddies, and he's spotting me drinks, and thinks he's lifting my spirits by giving me his personal table and tux at the Revue. And, yes, I am happy, depending on how many drinks he spots me. Plus, the girls.
But like I said, it's a drag getting dumped. The irony is rich. They dump me when they find out I haven't got money. But if I had money, they'd soak me silly, then dump me when I was poor. One way to look at it, I'm cutting out the middle man, and naturally hope springs eternal. It might really bloom, if, say, I and one of them were dropped on a desert island. I could say, "See, out here money's meaningless!" But that's too silly to hope for.
OK, so I was seeing the blonde. She found out about my financial embarrassment and her attitude switched on a dime. Figure of speech, 'cause if there'd been a dime, she'd've had it! One night she said she wanted money to live it up. I told her my situation, pulling out my pockets, even flapping my shirt pocket. She came real close as I offered her a good view of it, in good faith, and spit up in it and said that was my problem! Great girl!
Later, we're sitting silently at the kitchen table. She's filing her nails. I got snotty: "Do you enjoy doing your personal grooming at the dinner table?" Her response was curt: "You've been soiling the air around yourself for years!" I was like, "What?!" It seemed we were never on the same wavelength, and at that moment I knew it was true.
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