Sometimes it’s not good to have options.

As we tipped back a few sudsy beverages and watched the Padres blow another game last night, my pal Hank lamented about his single life being complicated. I thought only relationships were complicated. Heck, I’m single and that’s simple and straightforward. When I sleep alone I prefer to be by myself. What could be complicated about single life?

“The problem is I have options.”
“That sounds like a good thing, Hank.”
“Not always. You see, people in relationships have limited options: remain faithful or stray.”
“I, on the other hand, have no girlfriend yet I have multiple partners who play different roles.”
“Do tell.”
“Well, I have Cindy who will have sex with me at the drop of a text, but will pressure me into taking her on dates.”
“A reasonable request, no?”
“No. I don’t like her that way and I can’t justify the expenditure when freebies abound.”
“Interesting. Next?”
“Option two is Pam who will have sex with me and leave without demands.”
“Well, she sounds like a better option … for you.”
“Right, except she’s married.”
“Ah, that does complicate matters.”
“Then I have option three who is Jessica, a delicious young specimen I have yet to bed.”
“Why not?”
“She’s a cocktail server at one of my favorite establishments.”
That Jessica? This establishment? Dude, she’s twenty years younger.”
“Hence the complication. Well, that plus the fact that she probably doesn’t want to have sex with me.”
“Then why is she considered an option?”
“Because she parties hard and if I can manage to stuff enough tequila into her, she might issue me a day pass.”
“Doubtful, but you give her that old college freshman try.”
“Option four is an ex-girlfriend, Gina, who misses me.”
“I assume she’s an ex for a good reason.”
“The quality of the reason is indirectly proportional to the length ofĂ‚  my dry spell.”
“Wouldn’t going there be a step backward, Professor?”
“Dude, haven’t you ever had make-up sex? It’s right up there with hitting a walk-off grand slam.”
“Yes, I have, actually. In this case, though, you’re not actually making up, are you?”
“Oh, hell no. But, she doesn’t need to know that, right?”
“And here I am with two options–righty or lefty–while a swine like you needs a fucking abacus.”
“Don’t hate the player.”

Hank can keep his complications. I don’t mind watching his game since it’s entertaining. I just have no desire to play. I’m an old clown who has retired from juggling vaginas.

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.