Back when I was a very young stand-up comedian, before I had any real experiences with women, when I was still a 21-year-old virgin, I used to joke on stage that I was “looking for a girl like Mom. Unfortunately, there are not that many 5-foot-tall, 61-year-old Jewish women with eight kids looking for a guy like me.”
That joke always worked. However, it was a lie. I was not looking for a woman that was small, elderly, insightful, inquisitive, funny, determined, and all-knowing. I was looking for an adoring, smart, delightful, and beautiful girl that had a job she liked.
After looking carefully for almost 10 years, I gave up on those criteria, met a woman that vaguely matched the above description and married her. I loved her and loved her to the best of my ability, but I made her miserable. We split but share a child.
Now, it’s almost another 10 years and I now ponder, what kind of girl am I looking for?
I’m a simple man. And like most men, I want a woman who is a whore in bed. Not only that, I want a woman who cooks like a whore. And a woman who talks, dresses, and acts like a whore. Simply, I want a whore.
I want a woman who will have sex with me. And then go have sex with other men for money. Then bring the money home to me. Because I want a whore.
I’m sorry those last two paragraphs are just “jokes.” Easy, easy jokes and I apologize. I do not want a whore. I said it all for the cheap laughs. As my ex used to point out, I have this annoying habit of making the easiest possible jokes rather than being serious or heartfelt.
So, allow me to reiterate, publicly and formally, I do not want a whore. I do not want a whore as a mate, as an acquaintance, business partner, confidante, or pal. On no actual level do I desire a whore.
OK, but what do I want in a woman, all jokes aside?
I look over my mental records of the last year and I see that I have briefly courted and dated two real estate mini-moguls, a hippie volunteer worker, a magazine photo editor, and had hopeful thoughts about a waitress or two. All were relationships that lasted weeks rather than decades. I’m still friendly with all of the above.
Each of the women with whom I spent time this past year are delightful folk. Yet, I am most happy that we did not become a couple. It never felt “right.”
I often remind myself that two good people do not necessarily make a good couple and I move on.
Frankly, I always think that it will be hard to ever love someone as deeply as I loved my ex-wife.
I simply had such tremendous respect for her: personally, professionally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally. I loved her so much. I tried so sincerely and it was such a complete and utter failure. A horrible, depressing, humiliating, debilitating, and lonely failure. It was so tortuous that after nine years, I rather enjoy these friendly four-week relationships and then a friendly/slightly-unfriendly break-up. These relationships feel like a massage compared to the Spanish Inquisition and public beheading that was my marriage.
Still, I love my ex. We were simply two good people that made a very, very bad couple.
I keep telling myself that there will come this magical day, just as I have had two other magical days in my life, when I meet this woman who happens to be the proper match for my misshapen heart, body, and soul.
This still unknown woman won’t be perfect. She won’t be many things. However, she will be perfect for me.
And I’ll tell her. “I’ve waited quite a long time for you. Thank you for finally showing up.”
Just today a friend called to tell me that he has a girl that he wants me to meet. She’s small and funny and Jewish. Oh God, she sounds like my Mom. I told him to please introduce us. Maybe my old joke will become my reality, I’ll marry a girl like Mom.
Anyway, till my next magical day happens, I wake up happy and hopeful. I go to bed happy and hopeful. It’s not a bad pattern.
At least I’m sure that I do not want a whore.