Reinventing Mona by Jennifer Coburn Read Free Book Online Page A

salesmen.”
    “Grammy!” I chided. “You don’t care if this man sexually harasses his employees?”
    “Not in the least,” she replied, astounded that I could even consider it. “Why should that matter to me?”
    * * *
    I set down my iced tea and began reading the women’s magazines first. “Learn How to Give the Perfect Massage,” one suggested. “Learn to Listen.” Hmmm. Let’s see what the men’s mag has to say. I turned to the table of contents and the cover story I was looking for was a guy’s monthly column called The Dog House. How perfect! Mike Dougherty, the Dog.
    What I Wish Chicks Knew — Mike “the Dog” Dougherty
    My ex-girlfriend is pulling out of the driveway in a U-Haul truck. Up until a few minutes ago, I got the feeling she would have stayed if I asked. She was shuffling, hemming and hawing and talking about our problems like there’s still an “our.”
    If I didn’t want to talk about these so-called issues when we were together, why would I want to talk about them now? I could see what she was doing. She was waiting for me to tell her what she wanted to hear: Believe me when I tell you, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what that was. One night, during one of our interminable festivals of feelings (hers) she told me exactly what I was supposed to say to make her feel “special.” Stop now and grab a bag. It gets worse.
    When my latest ex realized that screaming at me wasn’t working, she actually wrote a script for me. She shouted, “Do I need to write a script for you?” I said no, but she did it anyway. (And I have the communication problem?!) I kid you not, she handed me a piece of paper with things she’d like me to say. So, you’re wondering, my friends, what did these crib notes say?
    “I love you.”
    “I wish we could spend more time together.”
    “I think about you all the time.”
    “I am so lucky to be with you.”
    In the interest of enhanced male-female relationships (hey, they’ve got all the pussy, what are we going to do, guys, right?), I’d like to offer a little free advice to my female readers. I hope you both enjoy it.
    First, let’s start with the obvious. If we’re with you, we’re into you. We either like you or we love you. ʼNuff said.
    Second, if I wished we could spend more time together, we would.  Sorry, ladies, but it’s the truth. What we want to do, we do. There are exceptions that keep us from doing things we really enjoy, but as a general rule, if we’re not spending a whole heck of a lot of time with you, it’s because we don’t want to. It’s not because we’re jerks. It’s because every one — women included — makes time to do what they enjoy. Bottom line, if we’re not spending time with you, it’s probably because you’re a huge pain in the ass, no fun, or look like hell these days.
    Third, we don’t think about you all the time. In order of importance, here’s what we think about: sex, sports, sex, food, sex, work, sex, gadgets, sex, going bald, sex, getting fat. Yeah, we think about you, too, but here’s a tip: The yapping and scripting is not sexy, and if you’re not fitting into our time for thinking about sex, you’re slipping down to the “work” slot. You should not be work. You should be sex.
    There are a handful of guys out there who are lucky enough to have found truly cool women to share their lives with. Hey, my hat’s off to you, man, ʼcause a brother knows it ain’t easy. But, ladies, if you are scripting, demanding, complaining all the time, we aren’t so lucky to be with you.
    Finally, stop writing these mental scripts of what we would say if we “really cared.” Don’t expect any man to start reading lines you find in a romance novel.  Women write these; women read them. Harlequin is a language guys don’t speak and don’t want to. Spare us the United Nations headset for translation. We’d rather learn Japanese — it’s easier and will get us further ahead in the