An Inhuman Condition

VI: Get Real

Beautiful women are like a drug. They make you feel good, and it’s fine every now and then but they can really ruin your life if you get addicted. You ever hear the phrase “I’m a sucker for a pretty face?” It’s a problem with men; we’re all suckers staring at the pretty girls begging to be fleeced. Like camouflaged predators, they wait to lure you in before pouncing.

It starts with dinner – you always pay for the dinner. Then you have to keep coming up with the endless series of trinkets, spending money to get her things or spending time doing things for her. You even “spend” time together. I know you’ve seen the clingy types who latch on and leech away all the other parts of your life until you turn into that guy who needs to ask permission to play a game of cards or go to the car show.

Sure they have guilt and other forms of manipulation to keep reeling you in. Even plain girls can use their tricks to keep a guy in line, but the most dangerous ones are always beautiful. If you find yourself with one of those, you keep asking how you got so lucky. It seems like a small sacrifice to be available for all her needy whims. I mean, you got a pretty one. You should be ecstatic. Don’t fuck that up, and you’ll be happy, right?

If you happen to forget, the word will remind you:

“You’re not getting any younger.”
“Isn’t it about time you settled down and got married?”
“Can’t you just find a nice girl?”
“We want grandchildren already.”

And what can you say to that? You can’t respond with something like “I loved the shit out of the last one, and she left me here in this desolate place where it rains all the time and I can’t seem to keep things together long enough to do it again.” And why would you want to? There’s so much more that you can do without an anchor in your pocket and an albatross around your neck. Why would you rush to fill the role that ate the money and daylight from your days? Semi-regular sex doesn’t seem like enough of a payoff.

She really did it when she left. I feel like I’m seeing it all clearly now; the bullshit is gone, and I have the time to do things for me now. It’s like a conman and a mark. If you play it just right, the mark will keep coming back for whatever snake oil you’re selling. If you fuck up and press too hard, he’ll see behind the curtain. Once he knows how much he’s been deceived, you probably won’t con him again. And that’s what she did.

She stole the blush from the rose, and it’s all grey now: an honest, quiet grey.