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  • Writer's pictureWJ King


It can be a lonely world out there and it’s seemingly bred in us to have a mate. Social mores have long dictated, the male be the initiator and while that protocol has proven pliable, the onus remains to a great degree, with the man. Given the opportunity, men make themselves ‘irresistible’. We shower, shave, brush our teeth with vigor unlike the routine morning cleaning before work as if their mother were looking over their shoulder, this time it means something and then ‘off you go’ to a singles bar to snag a mate. At the bar, the snagger and snaggee circle each other searching for signs of compatibility, all but sniffing each other’s asses, which will come later but not much later, if initial compatibility is determined. The scene is a perfect one, with men nearly beating on their chests and women a half step shy of ‘presenting.’ Girded or girdless for battle, the subjects are prepared for socialization, amicable or not and therein lies the rub.

The personal protective settings are on full alert and while the mood is conducive to intimacy, the perimeter is guarded, lest an unsavory sort attempts to intrude her secret garden. Metaphoric swordplay continues throughout the evening if touche’s are properly employed but only for a drink or two if he or she opens with a deadbeat ex- spousal tale. Many happy stories evolve from a singles bar or meat market, dependent on the tales, with some even containing truth. A true gladiator however, is able to slay the lion if you will, outside the designated arena.

We predators are a gentlemanly sort. We are sure to open doors and pull back chairs, up until and including when we pull back the covers. Making a play at a singles bar, is tantamount to throwing the front door open and yelling, “who’s for a piece of ass?” A random, impersonal and deftly intrusive confab, which may result in fictitious names passing in the night. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut... yadda, yadda, yadda.

The funeral home is where a true craftsman ventures. You’ve read the obituary and identified the players, eliminating any randomness, vulnerability apparent and the exit strategy an easy one. Single family members are the choicest cuts, but don’t be afraid to engage another spectator. If you knew the deceased, or are even remotely aware of any biographic intelligence, all the better. You have quickly determined she is single and any escort is a family member. “As gosh awful strange as this seems… I mean, I would never ask a lady out at a funeral, but….” Three things can happen, number one is she may agree the situation is awkward and give you her phone number, to be continued. She can declare you, “some kind of sick son of a bitch,” and ask you to leave, or three, invite you to the post-funeral meal and spend the night in full frollick mode.

Note: The widow is off limits unless you receive an unmistakable, ‘come hither’ look from her. At that point you may proceed at your own peril.


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Nov 03, 2020

This one thought provoking . I have found myself looking at decisions and consequences . I’m slow to except the death or end of a relationship or situation . But often at a wake or funeral I wonder where will those sitting there go without that person in their life . Changes for good or bad or status quo. I have trouble leaving the persons essence there . Funny to turn it into an opportunity for pure escapism well I guess it hadn’t crossed my mind . Good one .

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