Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Report from the front lines

Hey, all you married ladies sick of your husbands’ shenanigans – those of you thinking the grass may be greener on the other side of the fence, those of you enthralled by the idea of a man picking up the check and you NOT having to deduct it from your checkbook. This one’s for you.

On Saturday night, I had dinner and drinks with an old friend. Love this friend, love her kids, not crazy about her ex-husband, fascinated by the tales of dating on the other side of marriage.

As we were chatting, she pulled up a blog on her laptop. There was a picture of a guy – drop dead gorgeous, hot, smokin’, any hyperbole you want to apply would fit. Arms crossed, five o’clock shadow, sardonic and uber-sexy smirk, shades (you can’t even call them “sunglasses” – he’s just too cool for sunglasses), everything about him exuded perfection.

She looked at my expression. “Right??” she said, raising her eyebrows. The guy ended up being the friend of a friend and was profiled in the blog (for being sexy, I guess, I didn’t look beyond the picture to read the words), so my friend arranged to meet him for dinner and drinks.

Now, on paper (or screen), this guy was worthy of breaking every single commandment and relationship rule.

My friend is normal height (maybe 5’7”?), and was told this guy was the same height as her 5’11” friend. And apparently he was going to live up to the billing…cute, but also southern-sweet and smart. My friend dug out her Weight Watchers cookbook, ran to a Zumba class and got a spray tan. She was ready to be knocked off her (discriminating, but not crazy picky) feet.

So imagine her surprise when Mr. Hottie stood up from the table and was, at best, slightly below eye level with her. Imagine her surprise when she cracked a joke and he laughed uproariously, showing off a mouth of mangled teeth. Imagine her surprise when his voice sounded like he had just sucked on a helium balloon (okay, fine, I made that last part up, but it fits). Imagine the long, dark plummet of her heart when she realized that it is so true: you cannot ever judge a book by its cover. Or a stud by his picture.

They left the restaurant and she steered him by store-front windows so she could judge his actual height. When she realized her chin was pointing down, she gave up the illusion of a big, sturdy hunk.

She tried not to be funny so he wouldn’t bare his teeth.

When I finished laughing, I asked if she was going to see him again.

“Well,” she replied, answering me carefully, “he’s not married. So that’s a plus.”

Oh, all you single men out there, looking for a smart, sexy, accomplished woman in her 40’s – it’s like shooting fish in a freaking barrel. Where the hell is the best you’ve got to offer?

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