Mundane, Attractive and Vacuous

Bess was hotter than the burnt embers that stoked the fire in my vacant heart.

Not only did she have "a body that wouldn't quit", she had a body that had recently been promoted to Regional Manager of Sales.

She was pretty fucking hot.

How an Italian mercenary like me ever ended up marrying her is beyond me.

OK, I'm lying. I'm not Italian. I'm Jewish. And I'm not a mercenary, I'm a manager of Accounts Payable at Fenstein, Phlegmberg and Clamcheese, INC.

And we weren't married...yet. It was more of a stalker/stalkee relationship; I pathologically followed her every move, and she lived her life, occasionally enjoying discount Indian food.

But, this beaut beyond beauty will be mine. Soon they will call me "Moshe: The Sexiest Jew Who Fondles All Sorts Of Attractive Lady Types".

I'll just have to change my name to Moshe first. I'm actually Shlomo, which is about as bad a name as my parents could have chosen, except for maybe Gaylord. My last name is Suckscock, so, I mean, I'm fucked either way.

In any case, I wanted to be the Porgy to this delicious slice of Bess. But how?

I gathered up all my courage and decided to talk to her.

"Bess!"
"I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"Yes, I'm that creepy guy who was masturbating outside your window last night."
"Oh, my stalker!"
"I prefer sexy lady connoisseur"
"Either way, you watched me poo"
"I bet your poo smells like chocolate roses"

That visual did nothing for me, so I decided to open up the conversational floodgates.

"Well, I've gathered up all my courage, Bess. I want to talk to you. Tell me a little about yourself."
"OK, I was the cheerleader type in high school, but then I'm like "fuck that, I'm not daddy's little whore any more. Little Lolita's a woman, daddy". I've spent the last five years addicted to crystal meth and managing a Hopewell, New Jersey Quiznos. I don't know if it was the crank, but those sandwiches are fucking nasty".
"They are pretty disgusting"
"So what about you? What are you looking for?"
"Well I'm looking for someone intellectually curious, you know, someone who'll genuinely be interested in listening to NPR. Also, someone who knows how to write a good email. No letter "U" for "you", no TTYLs, no Twitter speak".
"Good luck, it's the 21st century; no one can spell anymore, books are a thing of the past, anal play is a rich sexual tapestry. Get with the times."

Knowing that she'd never be my "it" girl, I decided to drug her and take her back to my place. Sure, it was somewhat illegal, but so is drunk driving, and that didn't stop Linsday Lohan. Yes, I'm a modern day Lindsay Lohan...without the vicious drug and alcohol problem and rampant lesbianism.

She came back to my place; we spoke of God, Groucho Marx and discount hummus. It was an enlightening conversation, because I realized one true fact:

Just because someone is attractive, doesn't mean they have anything remotely interesting to say whatsoever...

I can't believe I'm just finding that shit out now.

I mean, sure. You see someone attractive and you automatically give them an intellectual pass. Idiotic things they say are "cute", vacuous things "sweet", racist things "humorous"...

You're blinded by their good looks.

Bored after speaking for 4 minutes, Bess spoke up.

"Do you have anything to do here? I mean if you're going to kidnap me and NOT rape me, you've got to provide at least some sort of entertainment..."
"I'm afraid the only socially acceptable form of home entertainment I have is this travel Scrabble."
"What about not socially acceptable?"
"Oh, then there's "sitting in deafening silence while idly checking my email"...that's my favorite past time".
"Well, it's your lucky day, Shlomo, because I love uncomfortable silences."

That's when I realized that even though she was stupid, vacuous and had virtually nothing interesting to say whatsoever...she actually enjoyed NOT talking to me.

Imagine being in a relationship with someone you don't have to interact with. It would be a dream come true.

So I married her. We never had kids, talked to each other or had any physical interaction of any sort. We only met at funerals and when we both needed to go to the bathroom: It was the perfect relationship.