DO YOU HAVE GREEN BACON IN YOUR FRIDGE?

Having not had any luck with the ladies in many years -- primarily because a keen sense of realism and self-preservation keeps me from even trying -- this blogger is in the perfect position to review the silly attempts that others have made to form personal links and establish stable relationships.

Some of the opening gambits they used betrayed a lack of sense:


"You want ice cream? I'll get you gallons of it!"

"Here, have a hamburger!"

"I just loooooove women who smoke cigars."


The first sentence focuses unnaturally on her eating disorder, the second limits her choices, and the third suggests that there is only one thing about her that can be considered attractive.


Most male attempts to become better acquainted with a female fumble over the sheer superficiality of the initial encounter. Looks play a key role, and consequently many men strike a creepy note.

Looks ARE important; two of my favourite phone voices belong to women several decades older than myself. You can see where that is a problem, especially because I am a typical male (pipe-smoking, Dutch-speaking, grumpy, ageist, and sexist), and would therefore be more interested in women significantly younger than myself.


Probably the best indicators of what a woman is like, and whether or not she's the right person you should be seeing, are the contents of her refrigerator.

It is always hard to ascertain this crucial data during a first meeting.

For whatever reason, women just won't tell the truth about it.

They'll never admit the chicken carcass.

Which is a week old.


Almost every woman with whom I have spoken over the years would, if pressed, have one believe that they keep fresh salad ingredients there.
As well as wholesome snacks.
Ethically sourced, organic, sensitive to nature or some such codswallop.
Or perhaps just coffee beans from Peet's, and white wine.

Not a single one would admit to stale pizza.

Or the week old chicken carcass.

And green bacon.


This morning, my apartment mate accused me of being the owner of the chicken carcass. She could not remember having put it in there over a week ago. When I pointed out that I only get smaller chicken parts, being a bachelor and therefore highly unlikely to purchase more than what can be eaten in one or two days, she finally recalled the bird.
Which was beyond redemption at this point.
As it had been for several days.
And threw it out.

Her boyfriend is unaware she does NOT purchase salad ingredients.

Or that she is maintaining a poultry morgue.

Man-o-man, that chicken.

Women!


The freezer compartment, on the other hand, is loaded with handy single-serving convenience foods and microwavables, both hers and mine.
Neither one of us is crazy.




PS.: The only reason there is no green bacon in there is that irrespective of whether either of us go on a bacon bender, the moment it starts turning colour it will get dumped.




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