Jobs

A couple years ago, I dated this hedge fund manager. It seemed too good to be true. She ticked all of my boxes, or so it seemed. Smart, funny, beautiful Ivy Leaguer & had an aircraft that could fly nonstop from L.A. to western Europe. No bath tub, but we all have to make sacrifices in this life. She kept a room year round at Claridges, one of my favorite hotels.

She'd say things like "Baby, I don't ever want you to work. You make the funny. I'll make the money."

In fairly short order, I realized that while she had no problem spending millions of Euros on horses, she'd never ever pick up a single
dinner check (or anything else for that matter). She also always ordered like it was her last night on Death Row. I was getting grumpy & broke with this false advertising.

I should mention that I asked her to delay sex, thinking, we should get to know each other first. "What's the rush?" sex is always great and has never been a problem in the past. This was a mistake. Don't ever do that. 

The day finally came,  and while sex wasn't awful, but it wasn't particularly memorable either. I just wasn't sensing much enthusiasm. That said, there's always room for improvement. We continued to try over the next few weeks.

For those of you who don't know, Nathan in Hebrew means "Giver" and give I did.

In a vain attempt to defibrulate our soggy, Wonder Bread sex life, I serviced her so long & so masterfully (her words), she was practically stuck to the ceiling when I finished. Exhausted, I rolled over onto my back hoping for a little reciprocity (which hadn't yet happened in a dozen sleepovers), when she said...

Olivia: Uh, sweetheart. Just so you know. I don't do anything with the word "Job" in it.

Outraged, I looked at my watch & said...

Me: Time of Death 11:39PM

Olivia: Do you mean to tell me, you wouldn't date someone who doesn't give head?

Me: I mean to tell you I wouldn't be FRIENDS with someone who doesn't give head.

And scene...