Smug assistant and bags of angst
Posted on September 26 2018

Porno Puppet and Diabetic Frog were finally an item. Sad as it may be to some, they were flushed with the full bloom of infatuation. And the most couple thing of all? Buying boyfriend and girlfriend hoodies cheap. Where can you buy matching couple shirts? Neither of them knew but what they did know is that they would fight over it. To say Porno Puppet was a Diva was an understatement. Diabetic Frog fought the valiant fight and lost, always. He had yet to develop sneaky ways to undermine his paramour’s confidence. Negging would result in a slap. He hadn’t heard of Ross Jeffries or presuppositional language. As you leave could you shut the door? It was something he didn’t even consider. He’d once been in a bar when an animated sales type had observed him flailing in the face of his girlfriend’s demands and whispered darkly,

“You need straight line selling,” gesturing to a tiny teaspoon hung around his neck.

Diabetic Frog thought the man was a lunatic and made his excuses. That night, as he wept into his pillow after yet another bitter row over nothing important he wished he had taken the mans advice, whatever it may have been.

Diabetic Frog would grow a pair at a later date, after drifting into S&M and finding his dominant side. Oh, joy.

However, as he noted, when his fulsome breasted lady friend was sweet, she was adorable indeed. But the marrying kind? Not so much. The issue was that no matter his approach it didn’t seem to be the right one given the specific moment in time. No one had told him of the old truism, that beautiful women are the same as every other, it’s just that the world slides more opportunities their way. Diabetic Frog had a limited understanding of this, and women in general, hence the confusion most of the time. What he really needed was a beautiful woman who thought she was an ugly duckling, not a prima donna who scoffed on kebabs. But he was just grateful, mostly because he was a bit naive. He failed to understand that what his lover needed most was his neediness. Had he been a leader of men she would have dropped him. The irony was that this was what first attracted her. He once was the strong silent type who was a man going his own way but had become soft after his losses playing blackjack. It was as if his winnings and wealth had become part of his self-esteem, and when they diminished so did he. For now, what he didn’t know, was that his girlfriend was merely riding the bow wave of his slowly depleting funds, a part in which she was eager to act. She was a San Fernando Valley girl, and they’re all actresses, aren’t they? It’s a crime of love if they aren’t.

But they went shopping none the less, her eager to see as many t-shirts for bf and gf as possible, hoodies too, and he keener still to buy the first they saw, since that’s what they’d inevitably do after visiting many many stores and running up a huge number of taxi fares. He failed to see what women saw when shopping. How is it possible they had such weak decision-making abilities? Just choose anything just about good enough, surely? It wasn’t a choice of hundreds, it was a choice of two. Just pick. He wondered if women applied the same filters used when clothes shopping to selecting relationships? Say it’s not so!

It was easier for men. Not too fat. Pretty enough. Doesn’t stab you in the leg with a fork. Not too demanding is it?

But from now on, he decided, his highest priority would be emotional stability.

All men go shopping in protest unless it’s for guns, girls or sports cars. This is well known, yet men are routinely dragged into it by women. Do the men look bored? Do you want to know a secret? All the man is thinking is this; can we have sex in the changing room and then go and eat steak? Men are easily pleased. All we need is the following to be happy; to be fed, to have regular sex and to have a woman laugh at our weak jokes. At this point, you are 98% of the way there, even if you are a bit chubby. So why be so hard on us when we are so easily pleased?

Just a thought, keep it in mind.

But as we know, the lady in today’s story was not satisfied without the carousel of dilemma and was much perplexed by what she saw in stores. Our manly hero did, of course, try his best to shorten the decision tree at all times by saying everything looked lovely on his lady. She was no fool, she knew his game, even if he was clueless of hers. He’d once told her that when playing cards if you don’t know who the dumbest person in the room is, it’s you. This required much personal reflection about one’s ability as a player, he said.

In aggregate, the old timers and players of clubs and pubs saw right through her. If she’d once been a genuine article, she no longer was so. But they knew that if she were outstanding, she’d fool even them, as had been proved more than once.

“There’s an old saying in Tennessee — I know it’s in Texas, probably in Tennessee — that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can’t get fooled again.” And other word mangles.

Everybody can be made a chump, they knew. The most natural person to fool is yourself.

As skilled as he was at counting cards at the Blackjack table, he was less of a player in the other sense. He would learn.

They’d already been to five shops, shops the least likely to sell items they were looking to buy and our hero was losing the will to live. He was beginning to think they’d spend yet another day “shopping” again return empty-handed. At least he had a good idea of what it was he wanted and what fit him too, which is more than could be said of his lover. She still believed she was a size 8. He didn’t want to tell her otherwise, hoping that she’d get the hint after trying five or six shops.

“There,” he said, “that’s perfect.” It was the fifth time he’d said it. She gave him a sour look and sucked her face in. He turned away, and his eyes tracked a rather attractive shop assistant at a makeup counter. Was she beautiful, he wondered, or just the product of deliberate fakery? Either way, she had a sexy body and a wedding ring. She was too young to be married. The ring was a defence to prevent her being picked up. Even he could work that one out.

“So if there’s nothing here you like, shall we leave?” He said hopefully.

“I didn’t say that. I haven’t looked at everything yet.”

By everything she meant it. Exactly. Even though they were in search of specific items, there was still apparent enthusiasm to look at irrelevant cruft and clutter. The frog sighed audibly. She gave him another sour look.

If he were on his own, he’d buy a defective item at the first shop and go for a boozy steak lunch. He didn’t really care for clothes. He would be happy in shorts and t-shirts all year round if it weren’t for the casinos. To be taken seriously he had to look the part.

His eyes once again drifted to the makeup counter. He decided she had a base attractiveness that was enhanced by makeup, she wasn’t a troll caked to fool the unwise. He wondered if she’d be a willing participant of a changing room favour trade.

“If you are going to look at other women who aren’t sleeping with you I won’t take you shopping again.” The girlfriend said curtly. What was being implied here? A method of escaping from shopping and yet another excuse for her to withdraw sex privileges? Could he ever win? He momentarily teetered on the side of shopping. If he had found courage a bit, he would have made it a strict policy of never going shopping with a woman due to the implication that payment was his passenger privilege. No arbitration would appease the differentiation in shopping strategies between the two lovebirds.

It hadn’t yet occurred to him to sum his expenditure. If he had done, he would have realised he would have been able to acquire a peaceable and easily pleased girlfriend at much lower cost! She was very high maintenance.

But finally, they were approaching the crux of things, and were at the point of passing awareness of the entire shops stock, when Porno Puppet stood bolt upright in her stiletto heels if it’s more possible to do so. He peered into the rack to see what she’d seen and wished it had remained unseen. She was flushed with excitement. A feeling he never derived from shopping. It was the perfect perky pair of t-shirts for a couple such as themselves. Oh, no, here we go, it’s argument time. It was also eye-watering price time.

He remembered, back in his youth, how there had been a Diadora t-shirt in a sports shop window. The price tag boldly read £80. This was in 1988. How, he thought, could such a price be justified? Later on, in life, he learned about marketing, and how perceived value has little to do with real value. And so it was with the items chosen by his girlfriend. They weren’t the best looking, the best fitting, neither did they have the best artwork, but they were the most expensive. He should have known. Whether justified or not, the lady believed that the most costly item is always the best, whereas he understood there is still a price/quality nexus, a point of maximal benefit per given unit of currency. Of course, he realised that this point moved as earnings rose, but some products are almost wholly the product of marketing spend and are therefore intrinsically poor value products. Handbags and ladies shoes are two such examples. Can it really be possible that a £2500 handbag is one hundred times better than a Primark one? Physically and literally of course not, but in the minds of fashion victims, bent on status display, very possibly.

He’d once heard of a smart seduction strategy that relied on perception and deception. A particularly amusing combo. A young man was asked to house sit for a wealthy older friend. The more former friend owned a luxurious 5-bed house and a Ferrari. The young Turk would drive past bus stops in weak parts of London and ask for directions, saying his Sat-Nav was broken. He’d chat women up and take them back to the big house for some daytime frolics. The same worked to even better effect at nightclub chucking out time, especially with women who were chewing their face off or who couldn’t see their own feet due to drunkenness. It was high balling eight balling taken low. Our hero thought it was a funny idea but lacked the gumption to pull it off himself.

“I want them!” Said his girlfriend stamping a foot. “But don’t you want to try them on? The last time you bought something that didn’t fit you said you looked like a condom overstuffed with sausage meat. You set the clothes on fire in the hotel bathtub and caused an evacuation. And remember how your hair looked after it had been watered on by the sprinkler system. She glowered at him unkindly.

He held up his hands, “Ok, Ok.”

She did this, tried everything on except the clothes she ended up buying, and then threw a rage when they didn’t fit. Frog wondered if this was normal behaviour or if he’s got a broken unit? Does the lemon law apply to girlfriends? He thought it should.

Somewhat pleased a choice had been made, yet at the same time aggrieved at the price of silence he took the baggage to the check out as his girlfriend waited nearby.

He handed over his card.

Declined, the terminal read, as the sales assistant looked at him, then his girlfriend and then back to him with a knowing smile.

“Arse.” He said under his breath.

In the next episode, Porno Puppet pays, grudgingly, our hero grows to love his, and a brief engagement is rescinded.
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['Gambling', 'Blackjack', 'Las Vegas', 'Card Counting', 'Short Story']