Alarm Bells

When I’m on a first date, alarm bells always go off if the woman says, “Let’s play Nixon.” This happened a few weeks ago when I was out with a tax attorney from one of the big midtown firms whom I met on OkCupid. I can understand why she wanted to play, because she was totally great at it. She looked scary with her shoulders hunched over, growling about the press and vowing revenge against the people on her enemies list. But as she started screaming about Jane Fonda and Joe Namath, I thought, Did it even occur to her that maybe I wanted to be Nixon and she could be Kissinger? That set off major alarm bells for me, because the last thing I need in my life is someone who’s inconsiderate.

If a woman tells me that she hears voices in her head, I hear something in my head, too; namely, alarm bells. Last December, I was at Chili’s with a Realtor I met on LinkedIn, and out of nowhere she said that she receives commands from Xanatar, a giant silkworm who controls the universe. She said Xanatar tells her to do stuff like jab people with forks and set things on fire, and it was obvious she was telling the truth, because she did both of those things in the course of the evening; i.e., to my arm and my pants. Now, I’ve got nothing per se against a person who talks to a big insect. But, in the two hours we were together, she never once asked me about the giant hermit crab who talks to me, which I’m pretty sure is bigger and more powerful than her precious silkworm. Verdict: alarm bells.

  By Andy Borowitz/continue