Amir, my Persian neighbor is beautiful. No seriously, he is take-your-panties-off … throw caution to the wind … there’s pretty much nothing you could say (or do) short of blasphemy, to make me think you’re unattractive in any shape, form or fashion –beautiful. The man is a sex god. That’s the good news, or rather the news. The bad news? Amir is not only beautiful, he is a beautiful disaster and by “beautiful disaster” I mean “cluster f*ck” and by “cluster f*ck” I mean he’s Nike wind suit, drink the Kool-aid, Waco-compound insane.
Last weekend, I went to dinner with Triple Threat (not his real name), a mutual friend who happens to also be roomies with Amir. Triple Threat is also Persian (and handsome) and dare I say “normal.” Normal in that the only thing he and Amir share is a 2,000 square foot living space and not the same school of thought. But I digress …
It was after dinner and several grapefruit margaritas that Triple Threat suggested we head over to his place for a few of my favorite things, hookah and jasmine tea. “Amir’s home just so you know … you still in?” I knew what that meant, *Cut to an hour and a half of meaningless political babble.* Alas, decisions needed to be made.
“Uhmmm, ok” Did I mention Amir is super hot?
The moment we walked down the hall towards their flat I heard Amir’s voice. “Legit! Legit! If everyone was open and honest about their rights, the world would be a much better place.”
I walked into the living room where he stood perched Tom Cruise style on top of the sofa. He returned to his seat as if he were coming out of character #AndScene. A bead of sweat making its way down the side of his chizzled Prince of Egypt jaw line.
I looked at Triple Threat and gave him the don’t ask, don’t tell smile. Amir’s Spidy Senses must have turned up because he immediately turned to me and said “If I have sex with a woman, I have to make sure she knows her rights.”
“I can’t have sex with anyone I’m not married to. Women have rights.”
“But you’re not married?”
“Not right now, no.”
“But, you’ve never been married-married. Right?”
I mean I just met him last December and outside of a few exchanges in the elevator and that ditsy bar tender I hadn’t seen him with any women. Of course, my name isn’t Pearl and I don’t sit on a stool overlooking 227 all day either. In fact, we hadn’t been neighbors since I moved in July.
“No, I’m not married. I do an agreement.”
“An agreement of what exactly?”
I wasn’t sure, but I wanted to make sure I wasn’t being set up to be sold into white slavery. *Spoiler alert* I’m not white, but I was curious. I also wanted to make sure I wasn’t entering in to one of his “agreements” by listening. Think what you want, but I watch the Discovery Channel.
“In order for me to be intimate with a woman, she has to be aware of her rights as a woman. And if she isn’t a virgin already, she can have sex with me as my wife for a pre-determined amount of time and in return I have to provide for her – basically whatever she asks.”
“Your agreement sounds a lot like heauxing to me.”
“No, she’s not heauxing if she’s my wife … <Insert psychotic babel here>
For the sake of literary symmetry (and time) I’ll run you through what Amir’s “None Heuxing, Heauxing Agreement” might look like.
“A Non Heaux-Heauxing Agreement”
A Brief Description of Your Rights as a Fake Wife
What you get, otherwise known as “Your Rights”: You get to make sex with your “husband” for a predetermined number of days. During this time, should
pregnancy, herpes, syphilis, a random vag odor, common cold, crazy ex anything happen to you, your “husband” is responsible for Olivia Pope’ing the situation. And, if you play your cards “rights,” right, you may be eligible for Showcase Showdown quality parting gifts. That’s right, you could be eligible for a New Carrrrrrrr!!! or just a car. But wait, there’s more … If at any point your “husband” decides he’s just not that into being your “husband” anymore, he can leave you. And the best part is, you don’t have to ask him to pay for a fake divorce lawyer! Horrrayyyyy.
His agreement sounded as practical as using heroin recreationally.
“Essentially, you want the benefits of marriage but not the responsibility?”
“Not at all, it’s about knowing your rights.”
There was no arguing with him, so I didn’t try. We were clearly on different ends of the monogamy spectrum. His “agreement” sounded like a deleted scene from “American Pie” or an amendment to the “3 Date Rule.” It was a sophomoric attempt at imitating love and marriage and commitment.
“Casual” exchanges does not a commitment make. Committed relationships MUST have reciprocity & real commitment requires an investment. There’s a reason Bentley and Rolls Royce don’t advertise the same way Kia and Hyandai do. Bentley and Rolls Royce don’t want every Tom, Dick and Amir driving their cars. Sure, they’re all cars; however, Bentley and Rolls Royce are not common cars. Consequently, they hold their value as such.
They’re not the kind of cars you feel comfortable hopping inside of with a vat of chilli cheese fries and a large cola from In and Out. You don’t want the ditzy bartender leaving her glitter body spray residue on your seats or Mr. Bo Jangles, your Gram Gram’s cat Freddi Krugering the leather. Why? Because chances are you’re not going to invest in a car that cost more than most homes only to funk it up to all damnation and trade it in a few weeks later. And even if you did do that, unless you’re a member of the Royal Family you probably couldn’t afford it. The reason you wouldn’t do this is because the car is more valuable than your everyday, run of the mill vehicle. And this is a car!!! A car.
So why then, would you feel comfortable treating a living being this way? More importantly, who agrees to these agreements? Are you as a human not worth more than a new clutch or a few meals at heaven forbid – The Red Lobster?
If I may, propose a new agreement …
Know Your Worth Agreement
Agreeing to Not Be a Stupid Chick
What you get, otherwise known as “Your Rights”: You get to make really, really good decisions for yourself. And the best part, you’re not putting yourself at risk for heartache, sleepless nights, some crazy a** dude who is probably thinking of an exit strategy, instead of new ways to make your life easier or worst of all, a stinking vag! You might find that you’re occasionally lonely; however, you’re never desperate enough to loan out your lady bits for a purse and some shoes, that let’s face it … you can probably purchase for yourself. Lastly, when you do meet someone worthy of your time and energy, he will want you to be his real wife, not his “fake wife.” Because unlike “fake husbands” real husbands – know that wedding bands make her dance – really, really nasty! And those guys aren’t going anywhere. Horrrayyyyy.