“Hey, pretty lady. Can I buy you a drink?”

She ignored you, but you thought you saw a trace of a smile. You sat down at the stool next to her.

“Hey, come on, I’m a nice guy. Really. You’d like me. Seriously. You want to go out sometime?”

And she burst out laughing.

That stung. The glare or the cold silence or even her throwing a fit and chewing you out, you could take that, that went with the territory. But this? She was laughing her ass off, wiping tears from her eyes and gasping for breath. And when she recovered, she looked you right in the eyes and said—almost sweetly—“Oh shit, honey! Give me a break!” She grinned ear to ear. “My boyfriend’s done the Program. Why would I want to go out with you?”

And then it seemed like it was all over the place—like if you looked at the magazine covers on a newsstand, it would be:

Elle: “The Program”: Why It Works!

Razor: Secrets of The Program

Cosmo: Ten Ways to Get Your Man to Do The Program

Maxim: Don’t Let Her Program You!

Star: Brad to Jenna: “I’ll Do The Program for You!”

But, you know, it seemed like something for Hollywood stars and Manhattan glitterati—not part of your world. Not something a guy from Queens would do. Come on!

The secretaries in the office pool were giggling about a guy over in Sales who supposedly did it. And one of them was like, “Oh my god? Can you believe it? I so am going to ask him!”

And the old biddy leering: “Ask him to do what?”

And they were cackling and the one who said it was blushing beet red, going, “No, just ask him what it’s like, that’s all. Come on, you guys!”

And through the laughter the dark-haired Rhonda from HR, the real sophisticated-looking one with the great ass and the steely eyes, said, “These guys should all do it. Our health plan covers it!”

Then:

You were in bed with Caitlin, who was this on-again-off-again piece you had, not a dog, but kind of plain—nice eyes, nice hair, a too-big nose, and little tits, and too skinny—and usually if you were feeling hard up you’d come around to her place and after some complaining on her part (about how you never came around), you’d end up on her sofa making out; and about one time out of three you’d end up in her bed, fucking. And when you added it up, she was actually the only girl you’d actually got to the fucking part with for about three years, since that thing with Tanika. And she always made these hints about being boyfriend-girlfriend, and you always laughed them off.