Which Would You Rather - Romance Division


By Tracy K. Lorenz

It’s time for another thrilling game of “Which Would You Rather” but this time it’s only relationship choices. Your choices are not official and none of this will appear on the test.

Would you rather marry a Vegan or marry a woman who stands up before the pilot opens the door?

This is a tough one. If you marry a vegan you know you’re in for a lifetime of misery because your wife will crowbar “I’m a Vegan” into every conversation until you’re ready to ramrod a ball of bacon down her throat like Johnny Reb loading a cannon. On the other hand people who stand up before the captain opens the door on a plane have the patience of a springer spaniel and will probably demand to see the manager at every store or restaurant you’ll ever attend.  Either way I’ll take her over the Vegan.

Would you rather marry a woman who picks through her salad or one who scrapes her yogurt cup?

I’m going with yogurt cup scraper, at least you can leave the room while she uses her spoon to remove every last molecule of whipped vanilla goodness from the cup.  I used to work with a lady and I swore she would scrape right through the bottom of the container, through the lunch table, through her leg skin, until she was eventually eating raw knee cartilage.

Salad pickers are another story, watching a woman pick through a salad like a woodpecker looking for a grub can cause one to envision her Tarantino-like demise. You’re going to eat the whole thing eventually anyways, there’s no need to take forty-five minutes to seek out each individual chickpea like you’re on a treasure hunt.

Would you rather marry a woman who can’t start a car without checking her phone first or one who uses “Adult” as a verb? 

For the love of God lady, just start your freakin’ car and MOVE, you don’t need to sit down and check Groupon to see if Hobby Lobby is having a sale every time you get in your car.  My office looks down on a parking lot and EVERY SINGLE WOMAN gets in her car, pops out her phone, and sits there for five minutes like she’s incubating a turtle egg. For some reason they just CAN NOT get in a car, start it, and leave, even if someone is very obviously waiting for their parking spot. But she still wins because there’s no way I could ever be around someone who says “I can’t adult today;” that needle-scratch could possibly lead to me running through a swamp with bloodhounds hot on my trail.

And here’s one for you, ladies.  Would you rather marry a guy who wears mandles or a guy who wears sports jerseys even though he has a stomach like Snoopy?  

I’m a guy so I can’t really answer that one but, um, the mandles gotta go. 

Printed by permission of the author.

Email him at Lorenzatlarge@aol.com.

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