Peace through pole dancing

How dating a stripper will improve any relationship

Oometimes love goes wrong because your part­ner changes. Sometimes it fails because you change. But more often than not, love fails because you stop appreciating what you've got. You grow complacent and bored. Quirks become annoyances. Thrills become chores. Novelty becomes drudgery. Who wants "safe" forever? The kind of person who will cherish you, understand you, grow with you, compre-

hend the areas where you don't mesh and react to that gulf with maturity and understanding—that is exactly the kind of person you become disen­chanted with and then leave and feel like a to-the-bedrock bastard for abandoning.

Sure, your journey of togetherness starts off all

sprinkles and buttons. But even the sweetest apple

plucked from the tree of love can become a rotted,

fly-blown failure full of disease, maggots and yelling.

Yes, when love goes bad it can fill an apple with yelling.

So how would you feel if I told you I can guarantee a stable, healthy relationship? The kind of deep union

I wherein, upon waking each morning, you murmur a

humble thanksgiving for the gift of eternal companion­ship, support and love that has appeared in your life. And that will never bore you. And that you'll always appreciate. Always. Always. Always.

The answer is quite simple, really: Date a stripper.

Strippers are our country's most precious resource for keep­ing people humble and happy and together. Forget about counseling. Forget about that weekend retreat to Sedona. And forget about self-help books featuring any of the follow­ing words: secret, code, steps, life, love, power, triumph and borderline personality disorder.

DOUBT ME? JUST COMPARE AND CONTRAST-YOU'LL SEE WHAT I MEAN.

©ARGUMENTS

MY WIFE AT HER WORST:

Sometimes yells. Sometimes conflates one mistake I've made into a global

condemnation of my character. When I point this out, she relents, laughs

at herself and apologizes.

MY STRIPPER EX-GIRLFRIEND AT HER BEST:

CHIVAS: [Her stripper name, not her real name] You didn't introduce me

to your friend.

ME: Whuh? [It's 4:17 a.m., and she's woken me up.]

CHIVAS: Two daw ago. When we were on Larchmont and those people you

knew came up. There were three of them, and you only introduced me to two.

ME: Mike and Millie? Those were the only two I knew. I didn't know the

third person, so I didnt know his name—he was a friend of theirs.

CHIVAS: What the fuck were you thinking with that motherfucking mix

tape, you faggot?!

ME: What?!

CHIVAS: [Louder, over the sound of her two pit bulls, both of which are now furiously bark­ing] / hate Roxy Music! ME: What...what...wait....

CHIVAS: You think I like listen-! ing to that shit? Make a differ­ent fuck mix. ME:Uh....

CHIVAS: Is that why you didn't introduce me to your gav friend on

the street? ME: What the fuck are you talking

about? Why are you waking me up now?

CHIVAS: My dad molested me, and my dogs hate you.

S3 FINANCES

MY WIFE AT HER WORST:

Buys a lot of, in my opinion, over­priced skin-care products. MY STRIPPER EX-GIRLFRIEND AT HER BEST: CHIVAS: So voure

going to start work in a

movie next week?

ME: Yeah. It should be run.

CHIVAS: I need to borrow some money.

ME: What for? You okay?

CHIVAS: My landlord is a Nazi Hitler.

ME: What's wrong?

CHIVAS: He's all like, "You haven't paid

rent in five months, and if you don't cough

up the money, I'm going to be a total

Hitler and padlock your apartment."

ME: Why haven't you paid your rent?

CHIVAS: What are you, my dad?

[Bark bark bark bark bark bark.}

(g) YOUR CHANCE TO BE A HERO

MY WIFE AT HER WORST:

Sometimes sleeps till noon, depressed about a writing project that has

stalled, and needs reassurance about her skills.

MY STRIPPER EX-GIRLFRIEND AT HER BEST:

CHIVAS: Where the fuck are you?

ME: I'm, uh, at work. It's Tuesday, and I'm at work like I always am.

CHIVAS: The police in El Segundo are goddamn Nazi Hitlers.

ME: Oh.

CHIVAS: I need bail money.

ME: Holy shit, what happened?

CHIVAS: They let these old ladies with Alzheimer's disease drive school

buses in El Segundo.

ME: Oh shit.

CHIVAS: And this bitch blocks the intersection suddenly, like out of

nowhere, and now the front of my car is mulched and can you fucking get down here?. SHERIFF IN BACKGROUND: Language.

CHIVAS: Oh, fuck off, you------

[Phone is hung up for her.]

(g) EXTENDED FAMILY

MY WIFE'S FAMILY AT ITS WORST:

Typical kookiness and social awkwardness allevi­ated by genuine charm, love and understanding. MY STRIPPER EX-GIRLFRIEND'S FAMILY AT ITS BEST:

ME: You feeling okavr

CHIVAS: Yeah, sweetie.

ME: It's just that...I want you to know I'm here

for you and especially afterward, if things are

uncomfortable. We can talk.

CHIVAS: What're you talking about?

ME: You know, what he did to you.

CHIVAS: And what exactly did he do to me?

ME: You said he molested you.

[Chivas's father and his new girlfriend, who's younger than

Chivas and looks almost exactly like Chivas, enter the Sizzler where

we're meeting for dinner.]

CHIVAS: What thefiick are you talking about?'. When the fuck did I say that?

ME: Last n-------

CHIVAS'S DAD: What're you hollerin' about, doodlebug?

CHIVAS: He says I told him you fucked me!

CHIVAS'S DAD: That was a nightmare you had! We agreed! [To me]

Who the fuck are you?

CHIVAS: Who's this bitch?

CHIVAS'S DAD'S GIRLFRIEND: Cowgirl with a bomb-ass

pussy, that's who.

[Chivas throws pepper mill at no one.]

(§) WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT,

IN THE END___________________

MY WIFE AT HER WORST:

Has taught me the past is dead, the future is uncertain and all we can

truly know, or come close to knowing, is the present.

MY STRIPPER EX-GIRLFRIEND AT HER BEST:

If you go down on a girl or leave her a note saying you miss her or don't

pay her rent, you're a faggot.

It took only two months of my dating a stripper to appreciate what a miracle my wife is. And I didn't meet my wife until three years after I got my stripper girlfriend's final, rypo-heaw text

message saying she was flying to "arjenteena" with a "music band." "Watch out for all the Nazi Hitlers!" I furiously

texted back. AJas, she was gone.

I'd like to think she's still out there, perhaps not in arjenteena but somewhere else, i^

Bolivia for example, giving some other poor fool a lesson he will never forget and mentioning casually, in her offhanded way, that her dad may or mav not have molested her.