So you ask “Hey Noah, I’d like to get me a great gal?” But you don’t know how so you’ve come crawling to me for advice. Ha, ha, ha… my, my, have the tables have turned. Wait! Don’t click off this page! I’m sorry. I’ll get straight to the point. This is a plan that I have disclosed to only close friends and anyone listening to me when I’m sweating whiskey out of my pores in a bar back in my hometown. After disclosing this surefire, easy 8-step plan, it is usually met with utter disinterest that soon morphs into disgust.
So, you know it works.
To begin with, are you attractive and receive a great amount of attention from the ladies? If your answer is “Ehhhh…” fret not my friend, my easy eight-step plan will end with you getting the woman of your dreams. Caution, this is not for the faint of heart because this does involve getting a little blood on your hands. With that out of the way, ON TO STEP ONE!
Step 1: Settle for/marry any woman that will put up with you.
“But Noah, I thought I was going to end up with the woman of my dreams?”
Shush, young grasshopper, and save all queries for the end. Now, if you’ll allow me to continue?
“But, Sensei Noah, why should I listen to you? Aren’t you single?”
Shut up! Do you want my help or not? …yea, that’s what I thought.
Step 2: Conceive a child with this person. I know that you will have some reservations about this, but you are only using this person to parlay what you create into getting the woman of your dreams. Forgive me—I’m getting ahead of myself.
Step 3: Wait for the child to turn 3 or so. Just so the child is aware and sentient, but still doesn’t really grasp what’s going on around him/her. For the sake of argument, let’s make this child a boy.
Step 4: Kill your wife. Now I know what you’re thinking, but, I never said that this would be easy. Oh wait, I guess I did in the title. But as the saying goes—if you want to make an omelet you have to kill an innocent woman… or something to that extent.
Do this step however you like. Perhaps you put a little cyanide in her cheesecake. Or create a slow gas leak in your home while you step out for a walk (a la The Simpsons). Do whatever you like. Get creative, have some fun for Christ’s sake! Just make it look like an accident. And don’t worry about being sloppy. CSI isn’t investigating this. I’m sure it will be a local sheriff with a blood phobia.
What’s that? You say that you don’t want to take an innocent life? Alright. I, like you, am a softy. So this is what you do: Step 4 (For wimps with scruples): Abduct the child and move across the country. Now, regular people and police will be looking for you, and that’s why it may be necessary to disguise you child. Pick up a fake mustache. And, if necessary, draw a distinctive scar on his face—perhaps get an eye-patch.
I know what you’re thinking, “But Noah, can’t I just divorce her?” Sorry, no, she has to be dead. Or appear that she is dead. It’s the only way to garner sympathy.
Step 5: DON’T tell your son what is going on. Tell him mommy went away—that she’s on a vacation. Whatever… just tell him something so that he stops with the incessant questions about the woman he loves.
Step 6: After a proper amount of “grieving time” take your son out in public. Take him anywhere people gather, e.g. city park, coffee house, bookstore, bar, speed dating event—or, how about the grocery store? You know what I’m driving toward. That crazy hot checkout girl! She could be yours! You calling me a liar?!?
Step 7: Tell your son to find Mommy. Tell him to ask EVERY adult he sees where’s mommy? If he gets sidetracked, ask him, “Do you see her? Ask that lady over there.” Pick up a few grocery items and stroll up to that gorgeous checkout clerk—the one that always gives you that look. You know what look I’m talking about—the: did you just pass gas? look.
Here’s an extra tip to extend the time you have with that pretty checkout gal you’ve been stalking. First, pick up a few pieces of fruit and you peel off the stickers. I know what you’re thinking, “fruit?” Yea, fruit. When was the last time you ate an apple? A real apple, and not an apple fritter—an honest to goodness, genuine apple? It’s been at least a decade for me. I’m not ashamed.
Back on point, buy a couple of apples—even if you plan to throw them out once you get home. Peel off the stickers that are on the surface of the apples—that way the checkout gal won’t be able to type in the identification number to know how much to charge you and will have to ask a stock-boy for assistance. Be sure to wear a prestigious college sweatshirt, even if you dropped out of a third-rate technical school. You’re going to need all you can get to appear like a respectable, affluent, contributor to society—and not the weird sticker-peeler that you are.
With the minimum wage lackey sent to retrieve the very same kind of apple that you didn’t get your filthy mitts on, you have ample amounts of time to subject this poor girl to your aggressive hard-sale.
This is the point when your half-orphaned son (if he follows direction) will ask the checkout clerk if she knows where his mother is.
Step 8: This is the most important step, so don’t mess it up. In front of the woman you bend to one knee, place one hand on his shoulder and say in a soft, sympathetic tone, “Champ, how many times do I have to tell you this? Mommy’s gone to heaven with the angels.” Then stand back up, apologize to the woman, and explain how this has been a hard period for you two. Explain the difficulties of being a single dad and so forth.
If all goes to plan she will accept your invitation for a date (because if she has a pulse she will have to say yes) and will eventually care deeply for your son (and to a much lesser extent you). And before you know it you’ll have this rube as your wife.
If all doesn’t go to plan, and this heartless bitch refuses an offer for dinner with a stoic, recent widower, keep moving and try again in a couple of days. If you’re young son asks further about the whole Mom being dead thing, just tell him, “What are you talking about, Sport? Where would you get a crazy idea like that, ya goofball?” Tussle his hair with a laugh and change the subject. Suggest treating him to ice cream. Kids have short memories.
If you follow my scheme accordingly you will end up with the girl of your dreams that is far out of your league. And she’ll— …oh, don’t give me that look, reader. I didn’t invent the rules of attraction. I merely created a reprehensible ploy to exploit them. Because if there is one thing as certain as a poison-laced piece of cheese cake, it’s this: Women love single fathers.
Just look at Hollywood…
Sleepless in Seattle
Dan in Real Life
The Pursuit of Happiness
…just to name a few.
Now you’re probably saying, “But Noah, that plan takes like four years.”
Five to be exact. But finding that true love is sacrifice: sacrifice of your time, your money, your independence… your first wife. And years down the line your son will inevitably put the pieces of the puzzle together and violently massacre you in your sleep Menedez Brothers style. But until then, enjoy the ride and revel in your short-sighted plan and take pleasure in the rising sun blanketing you in warmth each morning through your bedroom window next to the checkout woman of your dreams.