Desperate Remedies

We’ve all been there: endured the blind date from hell with a guy who turns your stomach. You know the type: short and portly like a hobbit and a head like a cue ball.

Not surprisingly, he’s smitten with you and continues to call despite your efforts to dissuade him: “The medication I take makes me drool.” But like a termite, he is an unwanted, tenacious pest.

Fortunately, the good folks at People Repellants are on standby waiting for your call. You call to make an appointment for a customized Pest Elimination Plan.

After that, a Pest Elimination Associate, who looks and sounds like a drill sergeant, arrives at your apartment, shakes your hand and says: “Our mission statement is based on one simple premise: There’s more than one way to skin a cat. To rid yourself of this albatross, you must pull out all the stops.”

The plan begins with a simple directive: Invite him for a romantic dinner at your place.

“While this might seem antithetical to the objective you’re trying to achieve,” he says authoritatively, “its surprisingly effective as long as you stick to the plan.” That evening when he calls, you invite him to dinner on Saturday night.

1. Setting the Scene: Strive to create an uninviting, shabby hovel.

Throw tarps over sofa and chairs. Stow coffee table in closet and replace with 24x36 inch piece of plywood set on top of two cement blocks. Add plastic ashtray brimming with cigarette butts.

Stick candle in old Chianti bottle and place on top of makeshift table. Nail two worn sheets at windows. Place all pictures, ornaments and anything else that is aesthetically attractive in large box and stow in closet. Put big oscillating fan with dirty, dust covered blades in center of living room. Place mousetraps in kitchen, dining room, and livingroom. Add furry, lifelike, stuffed critters for full effect.

2. Setting the Plan into Motion: Since men are visual creatures, strive for an appearance that is butt-ugly.

He arrives at seven sharp. You greet him sans makeup in a Welch’s grape juice stained gray sweatsuit. “Hi Stan.” Your hair is greasy and plastered to your head. You’re wearing a pair of thick, black rimmed bifocals hanging on a chain. Walking through the living room into the kitchen, you say dryly, “The exterminators were here today…spraying for vermin…roaches, mice. They’re promiscuous,” you say, winking at him flirtatiously. “Uh huh.” he says.

Standing next to you in the kitchen, he watches as you pick the cat’s water dish up off the floor and splash the slimy water over two glasses in the sink, then set them on the counter. He looks discombobulated. “Would you like a beer? you ask.

“Yeah,” he says as you begin to pour the bottle of beer into the dirty glass and says quickly, “That’s okay — -I’ll drink it from the bottle.”

“Okee-dokee.” you say. “I hope you’re hungry…cooking’s my thing.” you add, looking like a happy idiot. "I'm a great cook, sweetee. Everybody says so," she bragged.

3. Bon Appetit!: If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, put those culinary skills to good use and concoct something that’s not fit for man nor beast.

After lighting a cigarette, you stand at the stove, cigarette dangling from your mouth stirring the skillet of Hamburger Helper with a spatula.

“I didn’t know you could peel celery?” he says as he watches you peel a stalk of celery.

“Oh sure. You can peel anything. I once peeled a grape,” you remark pithily.

“Where’s the salad?” he asks.

“Salad???” you repeat with a blank look on your face.

“For the celery.” he says.

“There’s no salad,” you say as you throw the celery into the Hamburger Helper adding a couple of grapes for seasoning. Then you let one rip, farting loudly without excusing yourself. He looks stricken. You ask him if he likes bacon?

“Yes,” he says, as you take a coffee can of bacon grease from under the sink and when you do, a big mouse bolts out of the cupboard in Stan's direction. Without missing a beat, you proceed to scoop out a cupful and say, “I like to add a little bacon grease… for flavoring.” The color drains out of his face when he sees the mouse. "There's a mouse in here," he says. "Aren't you going to kill it?"

"Of course not...the more the merrier," she says, laughing like a drunken cherub, adding, "There's always a few creeping around this place. They keep me company. It’s ready.” you announce as he follows you into the living room. "You sit here," she says pushing a pile of dirty clothes onto the rug. Then you scoop a large, greasy portion onto his plate. He stares at it as if you’ve served him a plateful of terds.

Then you let one slip. The fart to end all farts: silent but deadly. Now the room smells like rotten eggs. You wave your hand in front of your face at the high-octane fumes and say, “The cat’s a little gassy."

“Wowsa,” he says, his eyes glazing over. You place the cat’s food dish on the makeshift table. The cat jumps up on the table, her hind end hoovering above his plate, tail wagging back and forth as she eats hungrily. Stan looks mortified.

“Go ahead…dig in,” you say, proudly as if you’re presenting him pheasant under glass. “It’s my specialty.” you say.

“Ya know what…” he says. “I’m gonna go.”

“Why?" you asked wide-eyed, feigning a look of disbelief.

“I’m feeling a little…queasy.”

“Here try this.” You hold a large forkful of the unctuous grub up to his mouth. He makes a beeline for the door. "Will I see you again?" she asks.

Stan bolts out of the apartment and she listens to the sound of him burning rubber out of the parking lot.

“See ya.” you say. Kudos to the folks at People Repellants for their uncouth, but highly effective approach to pest control. “Mission accomplished.”