Time Bombs

...you know they were on marry-and- mate missions, these women tipped you off, and you were able to flee before things got serious. Some women are better at disguising their reproductive desperation, and had you been dating one of these women, well, things might have turned out very differently. You might have been hanging out and having sex with a woman who — oops! — forgot to put her diaphragm in one night. Or misplaced her pills. Or poked holes in your condom. And, once she was knocked up, wasn’t quite so pro-choice as she lead you to believe on your first date. Instead of complaining, you should thank these women for being open about their intentions. Then, after you’ve thanked them, dump their desperate asses. But be warned: Dolls who’ve been repeatedly dumped by guys struggling with clichéd, fear-of-commitment crapola eventually adopt new stratagems. You see, women in search-and-be-impregnated mode tend to get dumped a lot by guys in sex- with-no-strings mode. Eventually a woman will switch to stealth-search-and-be-impregnated mode, telling a man everything he wants to hear (“Oh, honey, let’s just live for today! Another blowjob?”), biding her time until she can make him say what she wants to hear (“Oh, shit, you’re pregnant? Guess we better get married.”). But if I may lecture you, NYPD, a man in his mid 30s has had plenty of time to slut around, and should have figured out by now if he wants kids. There’s a point in a man’s life — around the time when he has to start going in for regular prostate exams — when fear of commitment and/or indecision on the wife-and-kids issue is no longer masculine or attractive or Peter Pan or Jack Kerouac or Bruce Springsteen. It’s just pathetic. I’m not saying that all men should want to settle down and/or have kids — the world would be a much better place if men who didn’t want kids didn’t have kids. But by the time you’re 40 and fat, with a real career and a swollen prostate gland, you’ve had enough time to make up your fucking mind. And once you’ve made up your mind, there’s a simple way to avoid reproductive desperados: If you feel no need to breed, don’t date women who want kids. Tell the women you date you’re not interested in being anyone’s phat daddy. Date only women who, like you, don’t want kids — they are out there — or women who’ve already had kids. Telling women who want kids that you don’t want kids will make it less likely that these women will sleep with you in hopes that you’re a MATCH! MATCH! MATCH! Which means you’ll get laid less, but hey, look on the bright side: You won’t wind up being anyone’s “accidental” daddy. I’m a 28-year-old, professional, single woman. I live with my boyfriend, and he enjoys strip clubs. I didn’t have a problem with this at first because he said it was no big deal, there was no touching involved, and he didn’t go very often. I recently found out that the last time he went he spent $500, stayed seven hours, and that there was touching involved. I admit to being naive on the subject: I didn’t know that you can pay strippers to crawl on top of you. I feel like I’ve been cheated on. Is he sick or am I a prude? I can’t turn to my girlfriends because I don’t want to destroy their opinions of my boyfriend.I should mention that he was ashamed and apologetic when confronted. Strip Club Widow He’s not sick, you’re not a prude, and you weren’t cheated on. He didn’t have sex with strippers — while $500 is a lot of money, it won’t go that far in a strip club — and while you may not have been aware of everything that goes on in a strip club, he was going with your consent. Which is not to say that your boyfriend behaved admirably: When he obtained your permission, he probably downplayed the amount of time and money he spends in strip clubs, and didn’t inform you about all those couch, table, and lap dances. He took advantage of your naiveté, and for that he should be made to suffer. Since you gave him permission to go before you knew he was capable of spending $500 and seven hours in a strip club, and when you thought there was no touching involved, you have every right to forbid him to go to strip clubs from here on out. But let’s not kid ourselves: Your boyfriend is still gonna go to strip clubs. If he goes without your permission, however, he’ll be more discreet about it, spending less money and time in strip clubs; and if you’re smart, you’ll turn a blind eye. I hope I’m not letting the pussy out of the parcel, but most straight guys in long-term relationships wanna fuck other women. For lots of guys, going to a strip club helps them blow off that wanna-fuck-other-women steam without actually fucking other women. If your boyfriend can go to a strip club without blowing your rent money, and is considerate enough to keep you in the dark about it, well, is it really that awful? There are times when two people have to suspend their disbelief and pretend their partners are the people they would like them to be. Call it being functionally dysfunctional: If your boyfriend is willing to pretend he doesn’t go to strip clubs, you should, for the good of your relationship, be willing to pretend that your boyfriend doesn’t go to strip clubs, too. Like Hairy Butt Blues, I wanted a less-fuzzy butt. I went for five laser hair removal sessions with a doctor who said laser hair removal was “permanent.” All the treatment did was remove the color from my asshair, which is now pure white. The same thing happened to a friend who got her legs done. I’m going for electrolysis now, and even though it’s slower, the results are 10 times better. Heads up on this bullshit laser hype, HBB. Scammed in San Fran If you’ve been left with freakish albino butthair, then perhaps HBB should take my original advice to heart: If people could only learn to love their butthair, they wouldn’t need lasers or electrolysis. Now that everybody knows mustaches are back in style — there was a story about it in The Wall Street Journal! — can butthair be far behind? [email protected]