Good God! Someone's stolen my wife!
There are certain things in life that don't happen all that often:
*An episode of "Three's Company" ending in a bloody scene of murder and intrigue.
*Mrs. Strauss expressing interest in having sex with Mr. Strauss.
The latter, obviously, the least likely of the three.
"Let's have sex tonight," said a woman allegedly claiming to be my wife last week.
"Um, okay," I replied, wondering who I was talking to.
Understanding, of course, I had no idea who this impostor was, I was nevertheless more than willing to take her up on the offer.
"Okay," I said again, just in case she didn't hear me the first time.
"Let's get a dirty movie, too," she said. "We haven't done that in a long time."
THE THREE BEST THINGS A WOMAN COULD EVER POSSIBLY SAY TO A MAN:
1. "Let's get a dirty movie."
2. "Honey, I'd like you to meet my stripper friend, Candy. She'll be staying with us tonight."
3. "A sheep? Well, alright, dear. If you insist."
I looked deeply into her eyes to see exactly what sort of genetic mutant clone was in my home.
"I'll be right back," I said.
And so, in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, while families were spending time with each other during this joyous holiday season...while honorable citizens of the community were performing random acts of kindness...while children laughingly made snowmen in the cold winter chill...I was sprinting to my car to go to the video store for pornography.
Because the truth of the matter is, while I appreciate the joyous holiday season, while I try to occasionally do good things for others, and while I believe making a snowman is a wonderful winter activity, none of those can hold a candle to pornography.
Actually, the reasons I decided to go to the video store immediately were a.) I felt my chances of seeing someone I know there at 3 PM were much less than if I went at 6 PM, and b.) I wanted to hurry before whoever this woman was decided to change her mind.
Luckily, there wasn't a soul in the video store, which meant I was able to saunter toward the special room in the back without hesitation.
Apparently, it had been a little bit longer than I remember since I'd made the trip to the special room in the back. Because as I opened the door, I discovered that the special room in the back had been replaced by the employee lounge in the back.
Which, of course, is just my luck.
On the day my wife has been taken from me, replaced by some sort of whore-like being, my pornography was gone.
This is the yin and yang of my life.
"Um, hi," I said.
"Porn is around the corner to the left," said the kid watching TV and eating Cheetos who didn't feel the need to look up.
"Um, thanks," I said to the smartass kid.
Helpful, but a smartass.
I shut the door, I walked around the corner to the left, and joy of joys, there it was.
Like a leprechaun discovering his pot of gold…like Columbus feasting his eyes upon the New World…like Geraldo staring blankly into an open hole in a wall…I had found my mecca.
Hundreds of naked women pictured on small boxes begging to be rented.
After several minutes of detailed analysis, I narrowed my choices down to four potential films:
"Rear Ended -- Again!"
"The Best of Fat Amateur Housewifes with Four or More Kids. "
"The World's Hottest Belly Button Lint, Vol. 26."
"My Baby Takes the Morning Chain. And an Occasional Whip or Two."
Just to be safe, I rented all four.
Remember the guilty feeling you had when you were a kid and you did something bad and your mom instantly knew you did it and you had no idea how she knew but somehow she knew? That's the feeling I always have when I walk out of the video store with pornography.
When I walk out, part of me wants to walk up to people and say, "I just want you to know that I didn't just rent a pornographic movie. Honest."
When I walk out, part of me feel as if there's a neon sign flashing on my forehead:
"Attention, attention. May I have your attention please: This man is desperate and perverse. Thank you for your time."
And yes, in case you're wondering, there is that much room on forehead.
And when I walk out, part of me wants to call my mom.
"Hi mom. Just wanted to say I love you. Huh? What? I have no idea what you're talking about? Huh? A dirty what? Huh? What?"
Later that afternoon, I had to meet two gentlemen for another article I was working on. At the end of the interview, I thanked them for their time. They shook my hand and said, "Nice to meet you. And enjoy your porn tonight." Then they gave me a little jab in the ribs. "Getting a little strange tonight, heh, heh, heh?"
And while I might have only thought they said that, still, I bet they had my mom on speed dial.
I left them, and I went home to pick up my dinner date. The alleged wife.
"I'm excited," said the imposter as she got in the car. "What movie did you get?"
"Exactly when will I be receiving the ransom note for my wife?" I asked.
The restaurant was in a small Italian neighborhood. Quiet, relaxing and elegant. The perfect place to spend some quality time with my wife. If only I was with my wife.
As our food arrived, I saw two guys I knew sitting at a table across from us with their wives. I stopped by their table, and we talked about making plans to get together for lunch soon.
"Well," I said, "I better get back before my food gets cold."
"Enjoy your meal," said one of them. "Hey, what are you and your wife doing after dinner?"
Then, they all started laughing. Not out loud. But I know they were laughing in their heads.
All throughout dinner, my lady friend held my hand. She told me how much she loved me. And she called me "sweetheart," "darling" and "the love of her life." She said she enjoyed calling me things like that.
Frankly, I think she did it because she really didn't know my name.
As we left the restaurant, the valet pulled up with our car, I handed him a tip and he slapped me on the back and said, "It's a triple-X night, baby...you da man!
"Oh, and your mom says hi."
Since it was still fairly early, we decided to go to a movie. Before the movie.
Besides, it wasn't like I was rushing home for my wife, considering she was all bound and gagged in some warehouse, anyway.
And so there I was, driving to the theater minding my own business, when this woman sitting next to me said, "Honey, I've got a surprise for you."
Dear Penthouse: I never thought this would happen to me.
"Who are you and what have you done with my wife?" I said.
"Shut up and drive," she said. "Or this won't ever happen again."
So I did. Even though I knew it wouldn't ever happen again, anyway.
"Do you like this?" she said.
"You're really Allen Funt and my mom and my real wife are in the backseat, right?" I said.
Being a guy, though, you eventually reach a point where even if it really were Allen Funt, well, you just don't care.
"Grab a Kleenex," I said.
"Why?" she said.
"Trust me, grab a Kleenex. I've done this before," I said.
"So I've read," she said.
She grabbed a Kleenex and put a roof over the house.
I looked down to my lap and there, at 65 miles an hour, I saw a familiar sight:
The midget ghost. The extremely short Klansman. The very mini me.
"You're not going to tell the old lady about this about this, are you?" I asked.
"Was that good?" she asked.
"Are you available on a rental basis?" I asked.
I was about to ask her real name when I heard a noise.
Followed by another beep. As in, beep beep.
As in, someone in a car was trying to get our attention.
I looked up and saw our friends Howard and Michelle in the car next to us. Then I looked down. And even though I was still hanging out, trust me, no one would notice.
Just to be safe, though, I took my coat and yanked it over my lap. An ice-cold coat. Boy, that felt good. I rolled down the window.
"Hey," said Howard.
"Hey," I said.
"Coming or going?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
We met inside. We chatted. I wanted to tell them, but I didn't want his wife to tell my wife. The one who was bound and gagged in the warehouse.
About an hour later, we actually left the movie early because it was really bad. Only because it was terrible.
On the way back to the car, I decided I should be a gentleman. A mensch, if you will. So I put my arm around this woman and said, "You know, if you're tired, I'm okay with that. We don't have to return the movie for a week."
Then, I waited.
I waited for her to say: "Oh, but honey, I want to watch that dirty movie tonight and do every single thing they do," she said. "Every position. Every angle. Everything they do, I want us to do."
She almost said that.
"My God, I'm exhausted, I could care less about that freaking movie anymore," she said. "Listen, tomorrow I need you to watch the kids in the afternoon while I go and get my nails done and then I'm going over to Michelle's to work on some of our crafts for that show and I need you to clean out the gutters one more time and shovel the sidewalk and call the builder and find out when they can fix the drywall upstairs and on Monday you better go and ask for a raise or I swear I'm going to call your boss and complain and I'm so sick of you lying around the damn house doing nothing and for god's sake, couldn't you at least act like you care about something? Something…anything other than lying on the couch watching sports like a fat-ass lazy pig? Please?"
I stopped walking. I grabbed her head and gazed into her eyes.
"Welcome back," I said.
"And don't expect anything like that ever again," she said.
Gone that fast. And I never even got her number.