The Bachelor Pad

Let’s take a look at a typical young bachelor, making a decent income and no responsibilities. He has red leather furniture, a white carpet and black lights. He has a black leather-and-chrome bar, stocked with white wine and mineral water. He has pencil drawings on the walls. He burns incense. He has jungle plants on the balcony, which overlooks the city.

He has no girlfriend. He has no girlfriend because of the above. No girl in her right mind could see this and not laugh out loud. She wouldn’t dare describe the place to her friends because she doesn’t want laughed at. What he sees as a elegant place, she sees as a bad Disney World nightmare. She’s looks for Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck to bring the drinks. She wants out of here.

Is that his real hair or a toupee? Either way, it’s bad. He’d be better off shaving his head. That tattoo looks like some sort of deformity. The fact that she can see it throws her off to begin with. Her tattoo is stunning and doesn’t show. It doesn’t show for this guy and never will, not ever.

What is that odor? Wow! He ought to call his landlord to get that repaired, whatever it is that’s broken. Oh, my God! It’s his cologne. It smells like the alley on the way to work! The one where the rats clash with the winos for the garbage dumpster. This guy smells like he was in the dumpster before she got here.

Oh, I don’t believe this! Crackers and cheese! Wonder where the little wieners are? Oh, he’s making a second trip. I’d like to stab him with one of these toothpicks. This glass is exactly the thing she puts flowers in. Is he trying to get me drunk? They don’t make alcohol strong enough to overcome all this. God, I hope he doesn’t call me Babe.

“Like some music, babe?”.

She stood in the bathroom thinking about throwing up. Light blue neon walls and dark blue toilet. Of course. The idiot left the seat up! Strike fifty. I can’t pee in there. He probably keeps a pet piranha in it. I’ll pee in the bath tub and hope for the best. No sense in washing my hands because I wouldn’t trust the towels.

Dinner was Chinese. Naturally, he gave her chopsticks. He gobbled his down like a hog at the trough. She picked at hers. The meat she avoided. It might be someone’s missing pet.

Here it comes. The Big Hit! Mr. Suave wants her to stay the night, at least the exciting part of it. For him, not her. She’s out of here. He’s not even getting a kiss for this. She doesn’t kiss clowns or conceptual designers. Most of them, all of them, are gay anyway.

“I want you to know that I’m not trying to hit on you. I’m a firm confirmed believer in sex is for marriage. I just like your company”, he tells her.

“What! What’s wrong with me? You don’t want me? Let me tell you something! I can rock your world like an earthquake. I can...”