a.k.a. Does the Hero Come Clean.
You’ve been through the trauma of first dating, the thrill of first orgasm and the homely skill of introducing your rather unique fella to the vagrancies of your cooking and family for the first time. The amazing part of all this is, you’ve survived. Now it’s come down to the line and you’re chewing your lip and biting your fingernails to the knuckle. This is it, the pinnacle of your relationship and the ultimate big decision. Should you make this man/thing/it a long and permanent part of your life? Is he the type of man/thing/it you really want? Will you get Singing in the Rain or scrubbing the grime off the bathtub? Does he know the difference between a sand trap and a trash can? Or does he think cordon bleu is something fancy that you wear?
Never fear, Agent Double D.3 is here. Our special agent has risked singlehood, pregnancy and housewife’s knee to give you this special guide to the cleaning habits of your heroic mate. Not sure whether you should “I do”, or “I don’t?” Well, before you wipe the floor with him, find out how in Agent Double D.3’s special report on Does the Hero Come Clean?
Agent Double D.3 reports :
We have to remember here we are dealing with a centuries old god-like personage. The mere fact that you’ve just asked him to help with the housework is a sin beyond all forgiving. Never mind that he’s the one who keeps walking soil from his homeland into the carpet, and wherever you look there’s bat droppings messing up the furniture. No, he does not do housework, thank you. That’s the job of the maids. Well, that and to provide him with a light snack now and then. So if you’re serious about hitching up with this guy you’d better make sure he has da moola in the bank to provide for the cleaning services you don’t want to provide. Of course if he pisses you off big time, just vacuum all that dirt out of his coffin. He’ll be so excited about your caring nature when he returns at dawn he’ll be speechless. And if he starts to complain, don’t you think it’s handy your broom handle is made of wood and rather stake like…?
If you’ve been around werewolves long enough there are two things you’ll learn.
A. They are messy eaters. And I mean messy in the extent that blood and entrails beating a path from your refrigerator door to the bedroom, is a common sight.
B. They shed hair faster than a boot camp barber.
Now, neither of these habits are going to get better over time, B. because he can’t help it, he’s allergic to that new fancy-smelling dog shampoo you bought him. And A. because he ain’t going to, so there! If you’re seriously thinking of sharing raw steak with this guy for the rest of your life make sure you invest in a small barn, preferably a mile or so from the house, and stick the raw meat in a refrigerator in there. As for B. Well, if he isn’t going to take proper care in his grooming habits I guess you’ll have to invest in one of those sticky rolls for picking up pet hair. Once you’ve applied it to him three or four times he’ll change his mind.
Ghosts don’t make a mess, not really. I mean, the mess seems to gravitate towards them in a kind of ectoplasmic magnetism that is too hard to describe. Trust me, stick a ghost in an empty mansion and within days it will be covered in cobwebs, dust and all sorts of insects reminiscent of dead, rotten bodies. Your beloved ghost will, therefore, feel himself totally justified in refusing to clean your house, or mansion. If your ghostly beau is one of these kinds of ghosts there is little you can do about it, save for a timely intervention of the cross, candle, book and bell. That nifty little vortex you get at the time of his agonizing exorcism clears up that inch thick dust accumulation in seconds.
4. Invisible men:
Now, be smart here girl. We know he’s invisible. We know we have no idea where he is when he takes his clothes off (well, okay, except when we’re doing that.) The point here to notice is, yes, he may be a super genius scientist, but no one has yet been able to invent invisible mess. Let me repeat. No one, not even super-jolly-lying-through-their-teeth-stinking-little-skunk-super-genius-scientists, have invented invisible mess. If he tries to pull this one on you when he’s invisible, simply spray him with your previously prepared acetone/superglue cocktail and throw a bucketful of aforementioned mess at him. If it’s truly invisible there’s no way he can complain about carrying it around with him all day, is there?
The ecological activists really have it all wrong. It isn’t humans polluting the oceans—it’s mermen. Let’s face it, all they do all weekend is sit around the coral reef, pulling beer, watching the latest water polo match and chewing on starfish. Do they pick up the mess when they’re done? Nope. They just toss the cans and exoskeletons to the undercurrents and let them float off to form new and interesting micro bio systems which will eventually return to poison your new watery world. There ain’t no amount of seaweed scrubbing going to get those stains off your nice new sharkskin rug. So let’s face it. Is a lifetime of debauchery worth the effort of constantly fighting the ecologically-safe war? If it is, then make sure you buy shares and sharp harpoons in the local whaling club. Then, if your beloved falls behind in his share of the household tasks, you have friends who can get across your points.
You really want to marry an incubus? Poor lass, I’ve actually got a much happier place for you if you’d like. They do tend to put one of those jackets on you with the funny sleeves but I think you’d be more content in a padded cell. Why? Well, let’s see. The most common messes you get with an incubus are;
A. Clothes. Not just his clothes and your clothes, I mean that would be somewhat bearable. But clothes. A trail of clothes coming from just about every bed in every house in town. (Well, it is his nature dearie.) There will be enough laundry there to make the local Chinese dry cleaners look like a family picnic. And there is
B. The condoms. After all, with all those women he keeps seeing thank God you managed to get him using some kind of protection. The trouble is, the truck load of them he bought last week are almost gone, and the used ones are lying all over the house and garden like bloated jellyfish that have been stranded and died. You even saw two of them waltzing under the bathtub until your cat jumped them and gnawed them to death. (Yep, the four hundred dollar vet bill to get the rubber surgically removed from it’s butt, still hurts.) If you really insist on marrying this guy then take certain precautions to ensure he does his bit to help. Dope him out and have a friendly surgeon insert steel rings through his glans and his testicle sack, and then padlock them together. Trust me, he’ll do anything to get that thing unlocked when you start on him…
Djinn’s do get rather boring sometimes, well, unless you’re into endless sex, that is. I mean, with their fastidiousness and magical ability all you have to do is look at a dropped, bogey stained tissue and *blink*, it’s gone. This, of course, makes a Djinn a perfect marital mate. You have no cooking, no cleaning, no bathing, no make up to put on, no…. well, nothing. It’s all done for you. So all you have to do is strip naked, lie there, moan appropriately at appropriate times.
Alternately, stuff him back in the bottle and shove that under the bed for while. Maybe, in two or three months time, when you’ve had a good mess build up and enjoyed cooking and cleaning for yourself for a while you’ll bring him out for a quick household fix and some rampant sex. I mean, a girl has to have some fun, you know.
Agent Double D.3 report ends.