What a Nice Guy by Phil Torcivia

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Indiana Joans


I read so much dating advice you’d think I’d be syndicated by now. Today, a column told women to be adventurous, which would make them like catnip to men. This was obviously not written by a cat owner nor a man, for that matter. I, on the other hand, have two cats, one bag of catnip, and zero bed warmers. Hence, I am qualified. I’ll dump a bit on the floor and document the reaction. Then, you can decide if you want your man all high on your sexual catnip.

Syd (black, skinny, sees ghosts) let loose a tiny mew and crawled over the nip. Now, he’s rolling onto his back and squirming around in it. He’s taking a breather. Let me interview him.

“How’s it going, Syd?”
“Groovy.”
“You look like a cheap slice of pizza overly coated in oregano.”
“All right.”
“How are you feeling? Horny, at all?”
“Do we have any Cheetos?”
“No. Does this make you want to be with a kitten, perhaps?”
“Ew, don’t be gross. She has to be a cat—at least two-and-a-half.”
“Ah ha, so you are feeling horny.”
“Wait, let me get this crap out of my eyes. OK. Now, what? Horny? No, not really. I mean, I’m not about to turn down a good licking, but right now I could eat a fucking carp.”
“Great.”

I’m taking that as one vote nay. Perhaps my other cat, Symon (orange, chubby, lazy), will give me a better interview. I’ve dumped a line on the floor and here he comes. Lovely. He’s eating it.

“Dickhead, you’re not supposed to eat it.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re supposed to smell it and rub around in it.”
“Hey, do I tell you what to do with your M&Ms?”
“There’s no nutritional value in catnip, you idiot.”
“I like the way it tastes. Why don’t you roll around in it?”
“Fine. How is it making you feel?”
“Well, a few pieces are stuck … say, do we have any toothpicks? I have this pesky food pocket.”
“Stop eating the catnip! Now, does it make you want to make out?”
“With Syd? Jesus, man.”
“No, not with your brother, with a girlie cat.”
“What are my other choices and do any of them include salty flakes of tuna?”
“Fine. It makes you hungry.”
“Pop, honestly, breathing makes me hungry.”

So much for that. Ladies, go right ahead and be adventurous if you want your man to roll around on the floor and do wind sprints to the refrigerator and snack drawer.

What does the writer mean by “adventurous” anyway? I don’t see how smearing on some eye-black, climbing out the window, crawling under the porch, and ca-cawing like a crow is going to make any man horny. Perhaps sexually adventurous is what’s intended. I once had a date lift her skirt and flop over the arm of my La-Z-Boy. She gave me a devilish wink. I fetched some ping-pong balls and a catcher’s mitt—not what she intended. What do I know?

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