Call me Weinstein.
I have lived my life of quiet desperation dominated by women. Well, not really dominated by them. More like dominated by the need for them. Controlled by the lack thereof and the pursuit therein.
Not that I have been without some small measure of success. After all, I was married for ten years and am currently married again; in fact, momentarily expecting the birth of my first child. Things have changed considerably for me, some might even say substantially improved. I sure would.
But as I look back from the purview of impending fatherhood at my assorted ventures of Jewish jelly and neurosis, I can only shake my head and laugh. Laugh at the journey that took me fleeing from the castrating contrary shrew-esses of New York to the gentle round-featured beauties of Harvard Square. Portnoy would be proud.
I have done it all. Singles dances, volleyball games, bike rides, weekend outings, video dating, skiing. Even, God forbid, folk dancing. Peering into the well lit vestibule of Concord Meeting House at the bobbing sea of sweating bandanna'd heads, I relieved my bursting bladder in the front bushes, of the five ounces of vodka imbibed in attempt to make even that activity palatable. Yes, I have done it all. Done it all in search of the Golden Shiksa.