Work, work, work
Five years and ten failed relationships. One with a marriage that lasted only a week—how was she to know he’d have a nun fetish? The others were all rebounds to forget said marriage. Then there were lots of horrible dates in between, each one fizzling out the moment she realized men just weren't as cool in real life as they appeared in movies. Damn that George Clooney. Real men all had some sort of . . . problem. Mommy complex, daddy complex, mommy-daddy complex. Can’t make love with the lights on, can’t make love without Larry King playing in the background, can’t make love . . .
Thelma Partridge was starting to wonder if she was just allergic to men. If so, she wished there were some sort of medication, some new wonder pill like the kind you saw on TV: Femfix, the pill that makes farting, rude language, all day ESPN, and obnoxious driving seem romantic. One dose and you’ll be running your fingers through his back hair with pleasure. Warning, missing a dosage of Femfix may cause you to wake up screaming when you see your apartment has turned into a bachelor pad full of dirty socks, empty beer bottles, and half-eaten burritos. Femfix is not responsible for mental damage caused by being turned into a human coaster.
Gah. Forget the magic pills, Thelma was just going to give up cold turkey. Toughen up. Reweld the chains on her chastity belt. Take up scrap-booking—collect doilies—get a dog. Anything but men.