Dear Amritsar:
Lately, I’ve been having this problem with my girlfriend, Deirdre. Don’t get me wrong – she’s great. Really. Most of the time. Aww, who am I kidding? – she’s a babe, a total fox, stunning. She’s the kind of girl complete strangers come up to in restaurants begging to have a photo taken with so they can boast on their blogs that they’ve slept with her.
At least, I hope they’re complete strangers.
I wasn’t sure why she started going out with me, to be honest. I mean, I am studly, in my way, but no women are asking to take my photo for their blogs. No men, either, come to think of it. Anyway, while I make an okay living as a male nurse in a macrobiotic civil engineering office, I didn’t think it would be enough to keep her in the lifestyle I imagined she was accustomed to.
A month after we started dating, I noticed that she began calling me her “little project.” She had created a folder on her desktop and filled it with information about high tech medical interventions. The folder included images of me that she had Photoshopped with various prosthetics devices. I should have read the clues, but I was a man in love, and when love gets in your eyes, it’s like sand that makes you tear up even though you’re not feeling emotional because, you know, that would be unmanly and, as I mentioned before, I am studly, in my way and
Uhh, yeah. So, anyway, it started with my eyes. “Have they always been hazel?” Deirdre asked one night when we were dining out on hobster. (Ham stuffed with lobster – it’s a delicacy in the northern part of Yugoganda.) She thought it might be cool for me to get ice blue retinal implants. You know. For the look.
Only, if I was going to get retinal implants, I might as well get more than just the colour done. By the end of the meal, Deirdre had convinced me to get full light spectrum view implants with WIFI connections to the Internet and sockets for future improvements like lasers. You know, when we sat down to eat I really hadn’t intended to single-handedly take over a small East European nation, but, sigh, at that point in our relationship, I would have done anything to make Deirdre happy. You know. The hotness, the eyes, sand and tearage.
I couldn’t afford the implants, but I didn’t want to disappoint Deirdre, so I went to Prosthetics ‘N Stuff. Even at their steep discounts, I couldn’t afford both, so I got an implant in one eye. It works pretty well, too, although I don’t use it all that much. It took me all of five minutes, for instance, to get tired of seeing through women’s clothes. I still connect to the Internet to play euchre online; if somebody I am with complains about how much I blink, I explain that it’s a medical condition for which there is no cure.
The headaches are bearable. Mostly.
And, Deirdre was happy with my new eye. For a while. A couple of days after their debut, Deirdre started hinting that my elbows were flabby. Bionic elbows were all the rage that week. I’m still not sure what they do, other than make one’s arms look like they belong to a marionette. I couldn’t afford even one on my salary; fortunately, I had discovered that the CEO of the company had an unnatural attraction to Neopets, and I blackmailed him for the money. You think corporate executives have to be tough to get where they are, but you would be surprised what a couple of Web surfing logs and hard drive scans can reduce a man to.
Anyway, I thought this would be enough for her, but soon Deirdre wanted me to get prosthetic legs. She said it would make her feel good to know that I could run to her side from anywhere in the city in less than five minutes. I couldn’t afford this, either; fortunately, the CEO showed me many creative ways to get money out of the company’s budget. I still couldn’t afford more than one leg, but Deirdre insisted, and Deirdre can be very convincing when she insists. So, I got a prosthetic leg.
Obviously, I can’t run very fast – my non-prosthetic leg slows me down. I can hop like a son of a bitch, though. Having to replace my left shoe every few days was an expense I hadn’t counted upon, but it’s a small price to pay to keep Deirdre happy.
Deirdre calls me her “very own iddy biddy widdle Frankenstein monster.” Why am I not comforted by this?
Now, she is hinting that she wants me to get a brain memory upgrade and jack-in socket behind my left ear. Why my left ear? I don’t know – I’m beginning to realize that I don’t really understand women. Meanwhile, the Federal Trade Commission is looking into the company’s books and the CEO insists that if he goes down, he won’t go down alone. Oh, Amritsar, what am I going to do?
Hey, Babe,
Have you ever considered running away and joining the circus?
Send your relationship problems to the Alternate Reality News Service’s sex, love and technology columnist in care of this publication. Amritsar Al-Falloudjianapour is not a trained therapist, but she does know a lot of stuff. AMRITSAR SAYS: if you’re uncertain about whether a suitor has lied in the personal section of their social networking page, do not hesitate to hack into their credit files. You should never let a little thing like privacy law get in the way of pursuing your happiness!