by Barry Parham

Created on: June 02, 2009

An Avuncular Afterword

Living alone, I don't have much need for my guest bathroom. I rarely even enter the room. But last night, I did. I had to. I'm single.

For single people to expect to survive on a planet where other human beings might actually visit your house, we have to abide by some standards and some rules. We must set and stick to rigorous routines, roughly approximating what normal humans regularly do, like cleaning stuff. And, for single people, there's nobody else around to enforce these rules.

Adherence to these rules doesn't come easy to some of us. I was 28 years old before I got the memo that shower curtains were actually replaceable.

Single Guy Quiz:

As a single guy, you have finally coerced a female earthling, one who is unfamiliar with your college days (this is vitally important) into joining you for a home-cooked evening meal at your place. In preparation, you rapidly vacuum a swath of carpet in the middle of each room, roughly approximating the path you generally take in your daily loop between TV, stereo and snack shelf. You duct-tape shut the doors to all the ancillary rooms that might trigger a global outbreak alert from the Center for Disease Control, including one room you completely forgot you even had. You find two plates that almost look alike, pull out your best paper towels, and set a fine table for two.

Your guest arrives and you manage to refrain from commenting on her hat (this is also vitally important). After preliminaries, you sling open the door to the fridge, engaging your guest in the culinary camaraderie of co-selecting the treats that will make up your evening repast. Unfortunately, you forgot to include 'a trip to the grocery' in your detailed planning.

Inside your fridge is an opened case of beer, some bread you brought back from a Boy Scout weekend in 1962, 11 pizza boxes, and a carton of milk with the warning, Best before the end of the Truman Administration.

Pick the most appropriate response from the list of options below:

A. Cheri, I know the most romantic Italian joint, just down the street.

B. On second thought, since you're, like, so svelte and stuff, let's skip straight to the Die Hard movie, eh?

C. Smell this.

It's almost not worth the trouble of putting up with all these picky, health-obsessed earthlings. Buzz off. Call me when you get a real immune system.

So back to the tale. On this latest first day of the month, as per my ruthless cleaning regimen, I made the vast cross-carpet

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