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Give Me A Girl
Joke Info
Category : Adventures of the Rusty Goat
Rating : 5.00
Contributor : n/a
Type : T
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| (One year ago)
I watched the U-haul truck make it's way slowly down my dirt road then turn onto the highway and disappear from sight. I looked up at the sky and said in a loud voice, "OK...I can't pick 'em!" Then I pointed my finger towards the
heavens, "YOU pick the next one!" ...and by gosh, I meant every word of it. You can ask those that were around...I was hell bent and determined that I was through with women. I declared to all who would listen that I was single for
life...and I was gonna learn to like it....and I did like it...for a month or so. Ever so often, that little fear would creep up on me...the fear that I just might really be a single man for the rest of my life. I'd push it aside...tell myself that I'd be
a whole lot happier without a woman. I reminded myself everyday that God himself was workin' on this...it'd be ok. Three months passed and not one woman sent from God knocked on my door. Matter of fact not a single woman
of any kind knocked on my door, except the mail lady once...and when I answered the door, I prayed a silent little prayer that she was here on official business. I let out a sigh of relief when she demanded a signature for a letter.
Around the fourth month, I decided that it'd be ok if I ventured out now and then while I was waiting for God to pick me a woman. I'd run up to the city on a Saturday night and dance with a girl or ten. After a few Saturday nights, I
began realizing what I didn't want in a woman...and I thought it might not hurt if I clued the MAN in on what I wasn't looking for. It didn't take me too long to discover that I was open season for older women...they were all looking for a
young fella like me. I tried to talk myself into the idea of a 'woman of age' but just couldn't make it click...besides, I'd already been down that road once. My first wife was a year and four months older than me when we got married. I
discovered she was three years older than me when we got our divorce...still trying to figure that one out. I started shying away from the old gals and found some pretty good luck with the young girls...but somewhere along the
way...usually during the first dance, they'd remind me why I really didn't want a younger woman...besides, I'd already been down that road before, too. My second go-round girl had been fourteen years younger than me. Let me tell
ya...it sounds good and it looks good...but it wasn't exactly a box of chocolates. I started running to lots of tall women...they just didn't fit right. Just something un-natural about looking up into a woman's eyes...and her nostrils I'll tell
ya, there really is an abundance of tall single women...so much so that I had begun to fear that I was shrinking. I made a nurse at the doctor's office measure me...she said, "five foot, nine inches." I questioned her, "and 1/2?" She
rolled her eyes and nodded. Whew, I wasn't shrinking. I kept bumping into those chubby girls...there's a reason ya bump into them...'cause they're FAT. I know I just pissed someone off. I just couldn't get too wound up about
those overweight women...mainly because I couldn't get my arms around them to dance. I danced with a few skinny girls here and there. They sorta click when they dance...no really, CLICK, CLICK...their bones rubbin' together, I
suppose....and they didn't feel quite right, either...sorta like last month's roadkill.
By the sixth month, I began thinking I was spending way too much time on the physical aspects of these women. I decided I'd experiment on a more social level. I started checking out those foo-foo women...they deserved a chance
with me, I figured. I danced with a few gals that looked like they'd just strayed off from Ro-day-oe Drive over there in Hollywood. Some of them claimed to be doctors...a college professor...an heiress to an oil company...even a
couple of lawyers. Now why on earth would a man get himself saddled down with a lawyer? If that don't work out down the road...ya ain't gettin' out with a clean set of drawers. I'll admit those high society women took good care of
themselves. I'm sure it took some of them several hours a day to get their hair just right...their makeup smeared on perfectly. Most of them had some sort of cosmetic surgery...I know because they were all extremely proud of the
fact..."Don't you think the doctor did a wonderful job on my boobs?" They were packing around lots of Bondo. I'd always wonder just what those women really look like when you wake up next to them one morning.
Soooo...a year later and I know what I ain't lookin' for in a woman...call me picky...I know. But on the up side, I also have a few ideas of what type of woman I'd like. I'm thinkin' maybe a strong, independent, girl who ain't afraid to
tackle whatever challenges come her way. One who knows the value of family, one who knows what's really important in life....and what's really not. Maybe a gal that expects to be treated like a lady...someone who allows a man to
open a door for her. I'm thinkin' maybe a girl who isn't afraid to cut loose and have some fun, who could be ready in twenty minutes if I said, "Let's go dancing tonight." She'd have so much in common with me that we'd sit at a
restaurant and chatter away while our food got cold. I think it'd be a plus if she wasn't afraid of an old redneck cowboy like me embarrassing her around her friends. I'm pretty rough around the edges and just can't seem to hide it.
She'd make me call her after I got home in the middle of the night to let her know I was OK...she'd call me when she found out I was on top of the roof fixin' the TV cable in a fifty mile an hour wind...just to be sure I was still alive.
Find me a girl that drives a pickup...and knows what size tires are on it...one that has all kinds of cool tools and a cool toolbox in the back of her truck to keep 'em in. Give me a girl that knows how to load a shotgun and ain't afraid to
use it. Find me a girl that knows what PVC is...the value of duct tape...the magical qualities of WD-40.
I want a girl who loves to dance..one that fits just right in my arms out on the dance floor...one who's cheek rests just right on my shoulder and leaves a tiny smudge of makeup on my shirt. It would always bring a smile to my face
when I saw it the next week as I was taking it to the laundry. Give me a girl who reminds me as we make our way to the dance floor, "This is a waltz, not a two-step." Give me a girl who loves to spin around the floor as the music
plays...and who let's me steal a little kiss from her when the song ends. Give me a girl who let's me know...there's always another dance.
...and you say...where in the hell would a fella find such an awesome woman like that? Well, that's between me and God...and we ain't tellin'! |
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