I sat in my apartment last weekend wondering what it is I'm looking for in a relationship. Things are going well with the Colombian, but while she's back home visiting her family, I've had some time to reflect. What do I want from a woman? Is it companionship, good conversation, someone who'll laugh at my jokes, a hand job on the sofa while watching Family Guy reruns together? Well, yes. I want all those things, but what else? There has to be something more. Otherwise, why bother dating? I could be perfectly happy sitting on my sofa alone, laughing at my own jokes and watching cartoons. And when it comes to hand jobs, no woman has ever given me one as good as the ones I've given myself.
While I struggled with my dilemma, fate, assisted by a packed subway car, forced me to sit next to a man whose wisdom pointed me in the right direction. He told me that his girlfriend is currently doing time for shooting her best friend in the stomach, and I figured who better to offer advice about love than a man with such impeccable taste. "The problem today," he theorized, "is that don't nobody want what Martin and Gina had. Ain't no mo' faithfulness and shit in the world."
I wondered to myself who Martin and Gina were. Perhaps they were tragic lovers in a Shakespearean play I hadn't read, or in an opera by Verdi I hadn't seen. I feared seeming ignorant when I asked, "Martin and Gina?" But the relationship expert I had the fortune of sitting next to looked at me without the slightest hint of judgment and said, "Yeah, you know Martin and Gina. They was perfect together." And then it hit me. Of course! How could I have overlooked one of the great couples of our time? I was looking for examples of the perfect relationship in literature and art, and in my own head, when all I needed to do was turn on BET.
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While I struggled with my dilemma, fate, assisted by a packed subway car, forced me to sit next to a man whose wisdom pointed me in the right direction. He told me that his girlfriend is currently doing time for shooting her best friend in the stomach, and I figured who better to offer advice about love than a man with such impeccable taste. "The problem today," he theorized, "is that don't nobody want what Martin and Gina had. Ain't no mo' faithfulness and shit in the world."
I wondered to myself who Martin and Gina were. Perhaps they were tragic lovers in a Shakespearean play I hadn't read, or in an opera by Verdi I hadn't seen. I feared seeming ignorant when I asked, "Martin and Gina?" But the relationship expert I had the fortune of sitting next to looked at me without the slightest hint of judgment and said, "Yeah, you know Martin and Gina. They was perfect together." And then it hit me. Of course! How could I have overlooked one of the great couples of our time? I was looking for examples of the perfect relationship in literature and art, and in my own head, when all I needed to do was turn on BET.
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