My Last (And Final) Friend with Benefits

John Jankowski

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When I first met my now ex-wife, I’d been single for awhile and had been living alone in a shabby, cluttered and mostly unkempt studio apartment in the rather seedy neighborhood of Uptown, located on Chicago’s north side, about a mile and a half, give or take, from Wrigley Field. The room was wall-to-wall books and filing cabinets, owing (mostly) to the fact that I was both a political activist and the manager of a radical bookstore. The former allowed for little free time, and the latter allowed for little money — but it did provide me with a steep discount on any books I might decide to purchase. So I took advantage….

Mid-gentrification, Uptown had been rechristened as “Sheridan Park”

My ex was never all that impressed with my lifestyle. Same with my neighborhood. And she repeatedly reminded me that my apartment reminded her of Mel Gibson’s “compound” in the film, “Conspiracy Theory.”

Flash-forward to about a month ago, when I’m attempting to forestall a visit to my current home by a female friend whose relationship with me had become…complicated. I’d been to her place; she never to mine. So she wondered if I might be hiding something (or someone) from her. Otherwise, why no invite?

In hope of keeping our friendship intact, while still keeping her at bay, I’d explained that due to my being single for so long, working so much, and sharing my home with animals, the house had fallen into disrepair and was simply not fit for a lady. Not completely sold on that argument, I added, “It’s like ‘Conspiracy Theory’ Lite — plus ‘The Birds.’”

Unfortunately for me, she hadn’t seen either film. Moreover, she reminded me that she was a “huge” animal-lover and would “thoroughly enjoy” meeting all of my birds.

Ultimately I couldn’t put her off any longer without jeopardizing the relationship, so to my house did she come.

Almost immediately I knew that this visit was not going to go well, as she dodged and weaved around the wild flowers I’d planted and grown in my front yard. Upon entering and hearing the mild cacophony of bird chatter being emitted from the room near the front door, she plugged her ears and winced. And that’s also when a small fly nearly ended up in her mouth. “What’s with the swarm of flies?!?!”

In my defense, a few random flies hardly constitute a swarm. And in explanation, I told her that the bait shop where I purchase prey for some of the birds had run short on wax worms, and in lieu of this situation, the owner had substituted spikes to make up the difference. (Spikes, by the way, are also grubs. Commonly referred to as maggots, they are in fact baby flies.) Apparently, I told her, the spikes were not as popular with the birds as the waxworms; so, in time, instead of becoming a meal, the spikes became flies. Just like the one she had nearly swallowed.

No sooner had I finished my response, when she was pointing at the ground and exclaiming, “Oh, my God! You have roaches, too!” I quickly bent down, scooped up what she had thought was a German cockroach, and noted, “No. I have crickets!”

Her last words: “I’m out of here!”

My last words: “This all could have been avoided if you’d have told me that your love for animals only extended to those with four legs and not six!”

Friends

Friends With Benefits

Being Single