I am Y.P.R.'s Boring Logo
Fun, Fickle Fiction (for Free!) Fact, Opinion, Essay, & Review Spectacular Features, Calendrical Happenings, Media Gadflies Poetry & Lyric Advice, How To, & Self-Help Listicles Semi-Frequent Columns Correspondence (Letters To and Letters From) Interviews The Book Club Letter from the Editors Disquieting Modern Trends Birthday Cards to Celebrities New & Noteworthy The Y.P.aRt Gallery Et Cetera, Et Cetera, Et Cetera The Y.P.aRchives Submit

 Atøm | Spanish
supportbar.jpg Bea!   Creative Commons License
This journal is licensed under a Creative Commons License and powered by Movable Typo 4.01.
Y.P.R. & Co.

The Journal of Literary Satire | Hastily Written & Slopilly Edited
Tuesday, March 30, 2004

Things My Nana Levenstein Taught Me about Love

When you meet a man remember: Always smile. It takes more work to frown than it does to smile. You have to use more facial muscles. It’s true. I read it in a magazine at Doctor Klein’s office. And you look so pretty when you smile. You really should smile more. Make them think you’re friendly, even a little trampy, but not too trampy, you know?

It’s just as easy to marry a Jew as it is to marry a goyim. In fact, easier. A multifaith wedding could take hours, the back and the forth with the priest and the rabbi. Nobody wants to sit through that. And forget about figuring out the catering. They don’t know how to eat right. Have you seen how skinny they are? It’s not normal.

If you’re on a date with a man and he asks you if your back door is open he isn’t talking about the rear of your house, he is talking about your pooper.

It’s just as easy to marry a rich man as it is to marry a poor man. If you would just put on some makeup, that is. Would a little lipstick kill you? Red lipstick. Like a dirty whore. Here, hold on a second. I think I have some in my purse.

It’s just as easy to stay married as it is to get a divorce. Could you imagine splitting a home down the middle? And then you’ll have to hire movers, and they break everything. When we moved to Sycamore Street I lost half of my crystal wine glasses. I never felt comfortable in that house, never.

It’s just as easy to take it from behind as it is to do it missionary style. Sure you have to flip over, but then you don’t have to look like you’re paying attention. It’s a fair trade-off.

It’s just as easy to sleep on the right side of the bed as it is to sleep on the left. Don’t look at me like I’m a fucking lunatic. You know exactly what that means.

Don’t ever go to bed angry. Sit calmly in the kitchen and talk it over. If you must have a drink while doing so, insist on the good scotch in the back of the liquor cabinet, and not that crap he puts out for the guests, the cheap bastard. If you must raise your voice, do so without cursing. If you must curse, don’t say anything you’ll regret. If he says something he’ll regret, make him pay for it, in little ways, for the rest of his life. Forget to give him messages from his buddies or let him oversleep and miss his tee time even though you’ve been up for hours. Spit in his cocktails when he’s not looking. If you prefer a more direct route of revenge, throw something at him. If you choose this course of action, aim low, not high, and throw china, not the good china that you use for the guests, but the bad china you use every day. And if you’re going to cry, do it softly. Keep your face away from him so he can’t see a thing, but make sure it’s loud enough so that he knows: he made you cry.

Jami Attenberg is the author of Deli Life and has written for Nylon, Salon, Online Journalism Review, and many other publications, most of which are no longer in business. Her latest project is a zine series, Instant Love. She breastfeeds the Internet daily at whatever-whenever.net.