A car collector and world travel whose genetics were ordered like Pierce Bronson, why wouldn't I be crazy for Mr. Right? A few factors to consider.
1. I found out that he graduated from high school in 1980 and I was only five.
2. He's a bad kisser.
Whoops! I think we hit the real reason! Unlike the tongue jam by the bartender, I can only describe that foretelling first kiss as feeling like I had a limp sea anemone sitting on my tongue!
No limp wet riders allowed!
In addition to the fatal first kiss, there were other aspects that this leering and perceptive brunette was able to entangle in her web. And this will be best expressed as:
It may seem a far cry from reason but I have the evidence to back this BC Rule #4 up. Strangely in the last year, I have played with older men that have all taken me to a Moroccan-themed restaurant. Don't get me wrong. Moroccan food is amazing. Bellydancing is wonderful to watch. The low seating and lush fabrics hanging from the walls are seductive and cozy. But, I think most Moroccan-themed restaurants are operating on a fake sense of romanticism. Who would argue against me? Most of the other couples that I spied at the restaurant where filled with first and second dates. The posture of many of the men and women were too stiff for it to have been a month-long romance or even a special year-anniversary date. Maybe because it was a Tuesday night but, I certainly didn't see a single married couple at the establishment.
Or, it might be that unmarried forty year old men understand woman better. These men want to impress ladies, particularly younger ladies, by flashing a young and adventurous spirit. That night at the restaurant, Mr. Right kept his mind on stories. The problem was I was listening. It was at the serving of the second course that I knew it was our last date. He had dished up earlier in the date that he had taken a friend to the airport. The first round of mint tea was served and his story changed. He told me that he had spent the day by actually taking a friend to pick up a new car today (one of those impressive I've got loads of money and important friends stories. Okay, why does his story about how hew spent his day keep changing? As the fruits and sweets were served for dessert, Mr. Right slipped and told me about his last girlfriend. She had beena 28 year old emotional and financial wreak (if he only knew my story). He told me bought her a car that at some later date he hoped she would be able to repay. Clearly, he forget his fragmented story of what he had done that day when next he said that he took her to pick up her new car next to airport. Mind you, he didn't mention that he had done it today. He kind of slipped and said that the dealership was next to the airport. My brunette sensibilties put a few other details together and I realized that he had bought her the car today. Hey...It's great that he bought a car for a woman that he dated for only two months and he said he dumped for been crazy and instable. I don't think I'd buy a car for someone like that but, I'm not like everyone. However, what I didn't like was his indirect approach. Not a trust-worthy sort of fellow. Hello, just tell me that you spent your day buying a new car for your ex-girlfriend but, then I wouldn't be sitting with him at the Moroccan restaurant. Wait, why was I sitting with him at the Moroccan restaurant. Hmm...He had mentioned several times that he wanted to be like Pierce Bronson and now I was starting to get it.
The other turn off, as if there could be more, was something that struck me deeper than that. For the last year, I had dated and worked with forty-something men and I think I've learned something about that age group. They're fucked up. Okay. I couldn't resist! I'm no angel. What I mean is that these men are working hard to obtain material status symbols that truly don't mean anything when compared to the heart. These guys think it'll really get a great looking lady in bed. It might work for red heads or blondes, but not brunettes. Another aspect of the forty-year old single men is that they take an alpha male approach to dominating conversation, status, and women. They love to tell the stories of beating up all the other high school kids or talking about all the fancy porche cars that they once owned. None of it is interesting. Not even at a Moroccan restaurant where the lights are dim and mask the appearance of age.
Every new man is a gamble. I'll take a risk for the right one but so far its back to sweet spring nights under the gentle sounds of suburbia. As a star shoots across the night sky, I know what I'm wishing for.
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