Wanted: Mentor Date: 2011-08-2, 4:30AM EDT Reply to: comm-alc4d-8753469007@craigslist.org I’m in need of a mentor. Someone older and wiser who can help me accomplish my goals, help me grow. A plant can’t grow without sunshine and water. And that’s what I need—someone to be my sun and water, and a reliable drinking partner. Most of the mentoring will take place at a bar where we can order Old Fashioneds, because we’ll both know that’s what successful people drink. I’ll make you laugh with my stories of youth and folly, and you’ll say I remind you of you when you were younger. I’ll tell you that sometimes I want to join the Army, just so someone will always tell me what to do; I’ll never have to make another decision. You’ll laugh and promise to act as my drill sergeant. We’ll spend a lot of time together. So much time your husband will get suspicious. You’ll invite me over for dinner so he can meet me and see for himself that he has nothing to worry about. But during dinner, as I slice into my perfectly cooked lamb shank and critique the last issue of The Economist (we’ll both know that successful people read The Economist), your foot will brush against my leg and I’ll spend the rest of the evening wondering if it was intentional. There will be no sex. Although we’ll both be attracted to each other, and the sexual tension between us will be thicker than Kirstie Alley’s waistline, we’ll both understand that the actual intercourse would be awkward and in direct contrast with our belief that we are sexual virtuosos. But there will be a tequila-induced incident (yes, sometimes even successful people need a stronger drink) where you’ll pass out on my couch, your blouse unbuttoned, revealing the lacy edge of your bra, and your skirt hiking up your thigh where the altitude is too high, the air is too thin, and I can barely breathe. I’ll pass out in the arm chair across from you. You’ll explain to your husband that nothing happened, but he’ll insist that we stop seeing each other. The mentor/mentee relationship makes him nervous. Are you not, as husband and wife, supposed to be mentoring each other? So who is this kid who drinks too much and thinks about you while masturbating? You love your husband, so you’ll agree to terminate our relationship, and as I listen to your rehearsed break-up speech, my grief will shoot up around me, like stalks of corn, until I am lost. While wandering through my cornfield of grief, I’ll begin to understand why you always wanted to watch Field of Dreams when you were drunk. Kevin Costner’s stuck with a bunch of lame corn and what does he do about it? He gets rid of it, and builds a baseball field. I too will rid myself of this corn; I’ll dig it up, shuck it, and convert it into ethanol, fueling my engine of ambition and thus accomplishing my goals. You’ll read about me in the The Economist a couple years later and smile, because you’ll know you succeeded as a mentor. it’s OK to contact this poster with services, other commercial interests or late-night drinking offers PostingID: 8753469007
