Why don’t you go adopt a puppy instead? Have you considered full on lesbianism? Why not? Guys suck, in general. You wouldn’t need to worry about getting knocked up. Think of the Greenhouse Effect: Gaseous emissions in your bedroom would be greatly reduced. There are a few rich liberals out there, you know. Fuck. Just abstain, will ya?
All right, if you insist. I warned you.
The first thing this conservative twat must learn to do is please a woman without giving her a guilt trip. That can involve being a good listener, gifts, acts of kindness, and tongue-punching her love bean. If he does those things well, she can tolerate sermons, financial newspapers, and conspiracy theories.
He’s going to correct you often. Learn to ignore his pompousness, and resist the urge to correct him, which might send him back to rehab. He’ll insist we—which, in most cases doesn’t include him—build high fences, and go kill people far away who disagree with us, or happen to be ill. Allow him to rant. Think about those designer bangles you saw in the Tiffany window, smile, and pat his forearm.
If you haven’t yet secured Mr. Pahrump, where would you find one? Yes, church, but you can’t do much flirting there. God hates boners, so your man will be uncomfortable. I suggest you hang at a Starbucks that happens to be close to a Wells Fargo branch. You might catch one of these whales carrying a gorgeous, vinyl zipper bag full of his daily deposit. He’ll make sure you—and everyone except brown people—see it.
Now, the approach.
Make sure you are dressed reasonably. No frayed jean shorts, please, unless you happen to be at a truck stop and your name is Bruce. A knee-length skirt works. If you can find rimless square reading glasses, he won’t be able to resist you. It’s also a good idea to wear a savior torture device around your neck. (Yes, a cross. Good thing Jesus wasn’t electrocuted. Imagine how cumbersome it would be to wear a chair.)
When Mr. Pahrump tucks the zipper purse under his arm, grabs a WSJ, and gets in line for his afternoon latte, jump behind him. Drop something. He’ll probably ignore that. When you bend over to retrieve it, head butt his butt, accidentally. Apologize, tell him you’re new to the area and ask if he has any recommendations for country clubs to host your fundraiser. If he stares vapidly, ask if he’s buying or selling Pfizer. Still nothing? He’s a goddamned poser.
Chances are, he’ll casually slip that wedding ring into his left pocket, and offer to buy you a foamy beverage. All you need do is smile and act impressed. He’ll peacock like crazy. Make like you’re seeing fireworks. When he innocuously places his Mercedes key on the table, tell him how you’ve always dreamed of driving one. You’ll be whisked away to Ruth’s Chris before you can say “Rush Limbaugh.”
The more conservative he is, the more likely it will be that you’ll encounter odd kinkery on his part. Prepare yourself for catching him masturbating to Fox News or Food Network shows. Come home early one night, and he might be wearing your panties. Could be worse. They could be your lace ones.
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