I want to marry a robot.
Here’s my dilemma:
Not only am I a very strong person facing responsibilities and pressure from all sides (single motherhood, lack of child support, stressful day job, violent kitten), which, on their own would be enough to drive anyone insane, but, ALSO, I have this whole dysfunctional-childhood/mentally-ill-parent thing going on.
And there are two ways to look at that. On the one hand you, you could say, “Wow! Considering everything Gwen’s been through and everything she’s going through now, she is a total fucking bad ass for holding it together as well as she has. Dude – since she left her husband three and a half years ago, she’s tripled her salary, she got a book deal, she’s lost five dress sizes, and her kids are all in the gifted/talented program at school! Dude – I don’t know why she’s not living at her dad’s house, spending welfare checks on Mad Dog and Little Debbie’s. Or just plain prostituting herself for crack! Man, I really admire Gwen and covet her success!”
On the other hand, you could say, “Man, you’d think that with everything Gwen has, she could just be happy. But no… She seems happy if you don’t know her too well (or if you don’t read her blog), but man, once you become her trusted friend, you realize what a whiny, self-pitying pain in the ass she really is. I don’t know how she has time to hold down a job or raise her kids or write anything at all with all the whining she does. And, dude – don’t even try to date her. Talk about high maintenance. Unless you’re prepared to reassure her of your love 117 times a day and to listen to her beat herself up and overanalyze everything ad nauseum, then the good sex just totally isn’t worth it. I’m sorry to say that, despite her ‘successful’ life, Gwen is chock full of (possibly hereditary) psychotic neuroses that no one will ever be able to cure.”
And, whichever paragraph you said, you’d probably be right.
This is why I need a robot husband.
If I had a robot husband who looked just like a normal man (with black hair, please), then everything would be easy. Not only would he cook, clean, and put out on demand – he’d have inexhaustible patience. Also, his computer brain would be able to devise clever answers to my whining.
“Do you really love me, or are you just saying that because you’re programmed to?” I’d say, bottom lip quivering.
He’d say something like, “Gwen, I am programmed to formulate actions based on the purest logic. After precisely measuring all your attributes, my only logical response is to love you. If your previous boyfriends did not reach the same conclusion, it is only because their human minds were too feeble.”
And then we’d kiss.
And whenever we kissed, I’d probably get a little bit electrocuted.
But you know what? It would totally be worth it.
