Real Men Smoke on Airplanes, with Dixon Coltrane

 
 

Coltrane, old buddy, I got a problem.
As with all problems, it begins and ends with a broad. Now, this girl is the light of my life. She’s the pepper on the steak, the kick in the whiskey, and the slow, easy wind on a warm summer’s evening. I love this dame like I never loved any hat or gun. Thing is, though, she’s trying to get me to put down my notepad and pistol and take up the quiet life. Become an accountant, go for walks in the Berkshires, have dinner parties, even. I don’t want to lose her sweet loving, but giving up what makes me a hard-boiled flatfoot is anathema to my very soul. What do I do, buddy?
Yours etc,
Hounded in Harper’s Wharf

Listen here Hounded,

Boy HIHW, you write a good letter. I mean, you’re like a hundred-dollar hooker who only works while standing up; you do it up right.
So, now we’ve for the greatest joke of all time out of the way, it’s time to get down to the nitty gritty of your shitty biddy issue. I get a lot of questions that all follow the same pattern; my girlfriend is a thing, and boy howdy, I wish I was this other thing, but she just wants me to be a thing. Every single time, my response is the same; do you have legs and money for bus fare? You know where I’m going with this; kick your girl out with those aforementioned legs, and throw bus fare down the hall after her. Why should she keep the house? Ladies can be homeless too – that’s where feminism gets you.
Sure, some people will tell you that relationships are precious and unique little seedlings, that need to be tended to, watered and firmly planted in reprocessed animal dung. I’m more of a ‘fuck your girlfriend’ kind of advice columnist, and by that I mean both that you should not put up with sub-standard girlfriendry, and also that I might bang your girlfriend.
I do see your problem though, and I understand; you love this skirt; she’s the ankle of your eye. But even the most beautiful woman has flaws, like a predilection for domestification or twisty breasts. The real question with you, Hounded, is when do you settle? When do you decide that the lady is more important to you than the job, or the life, or the adventures you might have with pearl-lined peroxide perkies and pump-action pill-poppers? Let’s be frank; when do you decide that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and stick your hand in that bird once and for all?
There’s no easy answer Hounded, but you just got to think about what you really want. Do you want this dame? Do you want to maintain your detective life? How could you possibly choose?
The answer is, of course, you don’t. A good rule of thumb for all relationships, be it with your family, friends, or liquor store clerk, is just do what you’re gonna do, and value those who stick around. Do what makes you happy, and if the doll sticks, you know it’s bona fide. If she walks, you know she was never meant for you in the first place, and you just let her walk. Unless she’s got really, really twisty breasts, then you sit there and think long and hard.

That’s the rub,
Dixon Coltrane

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