Read Online I Just Want My Pants Back by David Rosen - Free Book Online Page B

traveling, and she had a pretty easy semester. I’d close the store at ten, get home exhausted, and she’d force me to motivate. All I did that spring was re-stock CDs, smoke pot, and have sex.”
    Eric opened a pack of a gum and offered me a piece. “That doesn’t suck. Annie, hmm. I feel like Stacey has mentioned her.”
    I took the stick and popped it into my mouth. “That was really weird seeing her again. She was like the only ‘girlfriend’ I ever had—even if it was just a few months. What kind of gum is this?”
    “It’s called bubble mint, it’s some hybrid of bubble gum and mint gum.”
    “Hybrid, eh?” I grinned. “Okay, Doctor.”
    “Shut up.” He blew a small bubble, pulled it back in his mouth, and cracked it. “Maybe you should have gotten her number.”
    “Nah. I mean, she was a crazymaker.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    “It just means we drove each other crazy all the time, in good ways and in bad. It’s a chemical thing, I think. We had a lot, a lot, of screaming white-trash-type fights. We got thrown out of a bowling alley once because we were fighting over the right way to score spares, Jesus!” I laughed. “She also had a pretty bad eating disorder, which I didn’t realize until later. She only ate baked potatoes and frozen yogurt. At the time I thought she was just ‘quirky.’” I spat the gum into a trash can on the corner. “I’m not into it,” I said, wiping my lip.
    We began walking slowly in the general direction of my office. A river of people rushed around us like we were a rock in a stream, splitting and then re-gelling on the other side. It was sunny out, but the buildings were so tall in this part of town that we were always in shadow, no matter what side of the street we walked on.
    “I still say you should’ve gotten her number. Just think, you could show her how much better in bed you’ve gotten.” He slapped me on the shoulder with one of his big man-paws, and we hustled to beat the light and cross Sixth Avenue.
    Eric dropped me off at the office and thanked me again for agreeing to shoulder the rabbinical duties. I took one last breath of spring air and then went upstairs, my posture immediately beginning to slouch as I passed through the entrance. It was still totally quiet. Melinda wasn’t in yet and I had no new e-mails, certainly no reply from Jane. Damn it. I checked out nytimes.com, but there was nothing interesting; apparently it was the dullest day in American history. I leaned back in my chair and cleaned my glasses on my undershirt. Maybe Eric was right. Maybe I should’ve gotten Annie’s number; even though she drove me nuts, I sort of thought I was really in love with her for a moment there. But it wasn’t love. It was some kind of unscratchable itch. It was crying three a.m. phone calls and screaming in an un-air-conditioned car at stoplights over directions and generally expending vast amounts of energy and passion playing devil’s advocate on points I really didn’t care about but couldn’t leave alone. But maybe that was love, someone who could drive you crazy, someone you couldn’t ignore even when you wanted to, who got under your skin. I mean I sure as hell wasn’t sure as hell about what “love” was. Anyway, had I gotten Annie’s number, I knew where it would eventually lead.
    Beer. Intercourse. Tears.

     * * * * * 

    M elinda never came back to the office, which meant I had to run the late-afternoon casting session. Toddlers for a Charmin commercial. After only about ten minutes I wanted to Krazy Glue the tip of my penis shut so that I’d never, ever impregnate anyone.
    Kids were running around like they were on fire, crying, pulling each other’s hair, spazzing out. Each one was trailed by a mother suckling another younger child, or perhaps, in their eyes, another “gold mine.” These mothers were the worst, just the absolute worst. Their voices were so shrill they could pierce steel, the government should have