MY POINT OF VIEW
Congratulate me, Dear Readers. This month marks my two year dating anniversary with TBF.
It’s been a very happy two years. TBF is a dream come true.
Tall, handsome, smart, funny – and willing to date someone his own age. This guy is a catch and I was lucky to find him.
In the past two years, I have gotten the opportunity to really know him. And guess what?
He’s perfect. We are as happy as two grown people can possibly be and I wouldn’t change a single thing about him.
I might make a few tweaks, though.
1. His haircut. He’s lucky enough to have hair. Can’t he find a barber who won’t shave him so that he resembles Jack Webb in The D.I.?
2. His terrible menu indecision. (The last we went to dinner, he see-sawed back and forth so much between two entrees that the waiter finally took the bull by the horns and made the choice for him.)
3. His stubborn refusal to play golf.
4. His scary food addictions. (He has an all-consuming passion for butter, eggs, salt, chocolate, ice cream, bread, chips, coffee and beer. I worry about these unhealthy eating habits. I don’t want to start the man hunt all over again.)
5. His total disdain and avoidance of the sci-fi movie genre. The Martian and Gravity were terrific. He refused to see them. But he’s got another think coming if he believes that I’m going to see Ready Player One with Nick as soon as it opens.
6. His cellphone addiction. What can I say? He’s never off the damn thing. He’s always reading it. I bet he’s reading this on it right now.
Other than that, I have no complaints.
So Happy Anniversary, sweetie.
Here’s to two more.
Hi, all. TBF here and thought it was about time you heard my side of the story. I have been dating Ellen- your favorite blogger- for two years. And for the past two years, I have kept quiet.
Yes, I think she’s pretty and smart and funny. That’s what attracted me to her.
But get this.
She’s not as pretty and smart and funny as she thinks she is.
She’s useless as a babysitter and completely unacquainted with housework of any kind. She wouldn’t know a dust mop if it bit her on her woefully-underdeveloped rear end. The vacuum cleaner weighs more than she does, and as far as doing the dishes goes? What- and ruin that manicure?
I’ve never known a woman more demanding. Fancy dinners, roses, Friday and Saturday New York Times crossword puzzles. Have you seen the price of a NYT lately? Ouch.
And can she nag. She’s on my case all day long. “That’s too much butter.” “You don’t need all that salt.” “Another cookie?” You get the picture.
And what’s with this obsession with hamburgers? Do I always have to take her to Superdawg and Beinlich’s?
And why won’t she play chess with me? I have tried to teach her again and again but she insists on Crazy 8’s.
I have never seen a woman get mad faster than she does. I want some peace and quiet at my age but all I have to say is,”Dear, I’ve got something to tell you that you probably won’t like…” and she hits the ceiling. She goes from zero to sixty in a nano-second. I ask you, is this awful or what?
And can’t a guy get a good home-cooked meal every once in a blue moon? And help me out, guys. Is is true that’s it’s against religious and dietary laws for Jewish women to cook on Sundays? Do we always have to go out to get Chinese? Ellen says the Torah says so.
Happy Anniversary, Dear.