I blame Oprah. I do.
It's all those years our favorite gal pal encouraged the rest of us to find our 'authentic voices' which in turn seems to be have largely been in service to request that the men in and around us, do the same. How many times have we hammered away at men to reveal their 'inner this' and 'inner that'? There's been far too much sharing going on - way more than nature intended. This whole movement of making men morph into masculine versions of us has only resulted, as far as I can see, in men that talk Far Too Much.
They cry.
They wonder.
They have feelings.
They care about decor.
It's all those years our favorite gal pal encouraged the rest of us to find our 'authentic voices' which in turn seems to be have largely been in service to request that the men in and around us, do the same. How many times have we hammered away at men to reveal their 'inner this' and 'inner that'? There's been far too much sharing going on - way more than nature intended. This whole movement of making men morph into masculine versions of us has only resulted, as far as I can see, in men that talk Far Too Much.
They cry.
They wonder.
They have feelings.
They care about decor.
Last night I had a second date with a guy who asked me what my intentions where. What MY intentions are? What is he worried about? That I will play fast and easy with him and leave him a fallen man? People in town will talk? He is 51 and a bankruptcy lawyer. Originally, what appealed was his masculinity which, on this second outing seemed missing in action. He intrigued me at hello at the trial yoga class but was well into a bit of danger of losing me to Too Much Profound Disclosure Too Early On. He should have just opened with testosterone. Like the proverbial little black dress, it's always appropriate. Of course, in my youth, I liked those alpha guys. Then after a few stints of the silent type wherein you live out your Beauty and the Beast scenarios, you learn to want more connection or somewhat more of a spectrum of social interchange. But go figure, by 40-something and onwards, you realize – a functioning, male person is a beautiful thing. If you want to talk, you have your girlfriends for that. In fact, when men talk too much, they spoil the mood. The whole point of men is that they are ...well, men. It's a good thing. In my world, that is still fashionable.
But yes, my date continued. It's good to ask about intentions. He attested that women have their agendas and a man needed to know these things ahead. Why waste time or break hearts? I wanted to remind him we were only 17 minutes into the second act but at the very least, I do understand they people make incredible leaps - something based more on fear than reality. I have done that too, so I said nothing.
He told me he was taking Reiki and hot yoga and recently added textured vegetable protein to his diet in the homemade cabbage rolls he made.
“Makes a house feel cozy, the scent of cooking, don’t you think? he said. It’s so nurturing.
I felt a slight gagging sensation. And all this of course, is on the heels of being a cookbook author and professional chef to boot. It was a little bit like talking shop and I faced, as I always do in these predicaments, the challenge of saying too much or too little. I went with less is more.
Yes, food is nurturing, I agreed, feeling whatever seduction I might have had dwindle away. One wants a Guy and you get talky-feely Mr. Cabbage Rolls. It wasn’t happening. I don’t think anything quells libido quite as fast as talking Yiddish or mentioning the words, cabbage rolls. Unless of course, it’s kasha and bowties or stuffed derma or other choice nouns like liniment.
But yes, my date continued. It's good to ask about intentions. He attested that women have their agendas and a man needed to know these things ahead. Why waste time or break hearts? I wanted to remind him we were only 17 minutes into the second act but at the very least, I do understand they people make incredible leaps - something based more on fear than reality. I have done that too, so I said nothing.
He told me he was taking Reiki and hot yoga and recently added textured vegetable protein to his diet in the homemade cabbage rolls he made.
“Makes a house feel cozy, the scent of cooking, don’t you think? he said. It’s so nurturing.
I felt a slight gagging sensation. And all this of course, is on the heels of being a cookbook author and professional chef to boot. It was a little bit like talking shop and I faced, as I always do in these predicaments, the challenge of saying too much or too little. I went with less is more.
Yes, food is nurturing, I agreed, feeling whatever seduction I might have had dwindle away. One wants a Guy and you get talky-feely Mr. Cabbage Rolls. It wasn’t happening. I don’t think anything quells libido quite as fast as talking Yiddish or mentioning the words, cabbage rolls. Unless of course, it’s kasha and bowties or stuffed derma or other choice nouns like liniment.
He asked my advice about the last relationship he had and my opinion on what ‘she’ had meant when she said this or that and how come women give mixed messages and cannot commit.
Oh, I don’t know, I said reasonably (feeling again, Like The Guy), I think perhaps people just are all different.
But no - he rejoined- Women are less in touch with their feelings nowadays and seem scared of intimacy. I am a nurturing man. I need to be met and validated. You know....once you make yourself vulnerable - there is risk.
(What? Isn’t all that my script? And if he is worried about being vulnerable and risk factors, well, then, I will have to soothe and comfort which again....usurps the girl role which is mine by birth. He wants to be the girl by proxy.)
Oh, I don’t know, I said reasonably (feeling again, Like The Guy), I think perhaps people just are all different.
But no - he rejoined- Women are less in touch with their feelings nowadays and seem scared of intimacy. I am a nurturing man. I need to be met and validated. You know....once you make yourself vulnerable - there is risk.
(What? Isn’t all that my script? And if he is worried about being vulnerable and risk factors, well, then, I will have to soothe and comfort which again....usurps the girl role which is mine by birth. He wants to be the girl by proxy.)
You need to be 'met'?
I want, he said, pausing a sip of his coffee concoction that featured both whipped cream AND steamed milk, something….authentic. (Do you think they have Splenda or only Sweet 'n Low?, he asked)
Something authentic? I parried.
By the second coffee refill, I definitely began to feel like The Guy. My date was oh-so-gentle and inquiring and making more eye contact than an games tracker, studying me intently for my every word. In a way it was nice to be so attuned; on another level, I felt the oxygen disappearing and perceived I was being measured in some new age barometer.
I quickly chased to the bottom line. He wanted to talk feelings; I wanted to talk about the second golden era of the Internet and electronic rights of digital music. I wanted to talk about the Boston Sox with an adult. My women friends don’t like baseball and my boys only have their boys’ point of view. I have talked enough 'feelings' to fill 12 5-Star Notebook Journals. I wanted to be on a date with a person, coincidentally male, and feel what Elizabeth Bennet does so well: feminine and saucy and bright. There is time enough to get to risk factors and vulnerability.
I hadn't so much as touched his cuff.
I want, he said, pausing a sip of his coffee concoction that featured both whipped cream AND steamed milk, something….authentic. (Do you think they have Splenda or only Sweet 'n Low?, he asked)
Something authentic? I parried.
By the second coffee refill, I definitely began to feel like The Guy. My date was oh-so-gentle and inquiring and making more eye contact than an games tracker, studying me intently for my every word. In a way it was nice to be so attuned; on another level, I felt the oxygen disappearing and perceived I was being measured in some new age barometer.
I quickly chased to the bottom line. He wanted to talk feelings; I wanted to talk about the second golden era of the Internet and electronic rights of digital music. I wanted to talk about the Boston Sox with an adult. My women friends don’t like baseball and my boys only have their boys’ point of view. I have talked enough 'feelings' to fill 12 5-Star Notebook Journals. I wanted to be on a date with a person, coincidentally male, and feel what Elizabeth Bennet does so well: feminine and saucy and bright. There is time enough to get to risk factors and vulnerability.
I hadn't so much as touched his cuff.
But I realized things had changed since I last dated (2 months ago). Moreover, life with three sons had morphed me. In fact, when was the last time I got mad and stayed mad? Don’t remember. I have now acquired the art of moving on and not carrying grudges. I no longer get cranky and catty. Instead, I get sullen and morose for an hour, shoot some hoops in our driveway or paint a shelf and feel better. No one to help reconnect us to the internet (THREE SONS, count ‘em, THREE sons and no one is technically inclined. How is that even POSSIBLE?) so I learned how. I fixed the scanner the other day, as well as the weird black bulb thing in the toilet bowl, and intimidated a trio of roofers from giving me a false and inflated estimate (note to self: never hire roofers that look like the Donkey Boys from Pinochio). I recently learned to change winter tires in Fall (vs. driving on them all season in the errant assumption I would save a tire-change. You don’t. You just ruin the winter tires on hot summer streets). I have lost the art of making idle chit chat about minutia, I don’t want to talk feelings all the time. And I don’t feel bad for my moods nor apologize for ordering what I want. I don’t advertise popular opinions to seem nice and equalitarian; I just do what I know instinctively is right. For me. And I also lost my taste for gossip and make-overs. So on a date, as this was, if the men have changed, so have I.
But then, just to remind me I was still in Quasi Kansas, the conversation took another tact.
I sympathetically mentioned to my date how it must be a challenge, being a single/widowed father, as he was, of three sons.
I too, have three sons.
Oh yes, he said – keeping them in line is a daily learning curve. For instance, swearing. There is in the 'house' talk and 'outside' the house talk.
Ummm, Yes. I guess. (Wondering where this was going. In the house talk vs. outside the house talk? There was a tiered dialect?)
Well – you know – for instance, the 'C' word.
The 'C' word? (Surely he was he referring to candy, to Canada, or a disease?)
Yes – you know – (smiling blandly/benignly). He started to spell it out.
The C word: C, u,n...
I know the word! I said, (I just cannot believe you are using it, here, now and in life in general)
But then, just to remind me I was still in Quasi Kansas, the conversation took another tact.
I sympathetically mentioned to my date how it must be a challenge, being a single/widowed father, as he was, of three sons.
I too, have three sons.
Oh yes, he said – keeping them in line is a daily learning curve. For instance, swearing. There is in the 'house' talk and 'outside' the house talk.
Ummm, Yes. I guess. (Wondering where this was going. In the house talk vs. outside the house talk? There was a tiered dialect?)
Well – you know – for instance, the 'C' word.
The 'C' word? (Surely he was he referring to candy, to Canada, or a disease?)
Yes – you know – (smiling blandly/benignly). He started to spell it out.
The C word: C, u,n...
I know the word! I said, (I just cannot believe you are using it, here, now and in life in general)
It's just such a great word. Upbeat and to the point. (And then he helpfully said it out loud again)
Actually, it is quite jaunty.
Jaunty?
Oh come on, he said, eyes rolling, You can’t tell me that is bothersome. Words are powerful, Marcy. One mustn’t be afraid of language.
I leaned in to him, noting the scent of Irish Spring and Swiss Army aftershave – a lethal combination in the best of times which of course, this wasn’t.
Listen, I am a writer. I know from language. I get words. Trust me. Don’t dick around with things like the C word and tell me it is jaunty and powerful. It unacceptable, you misogynistic idiot.
Game over. My (male) pretence of being a good sport and laissez faire was done. I was indeed, the girl again. And in a pique.
There was a pause. He chucked without mirth, as they say.
He paid for the coffees.
He turned to me and said,
You know – I am a little hurt by your tone. The 'C' word can even be endearing and it took me years to get in touch with my inner bitch – my feminine side – so to speak, and use it. And you put me down for it.
Right.
I am a woman in a crazy café with a witless man who is lecturing me on feelings and the use of one particular 4-letter word that is, in essence, a distillation of all that is evil and base and sad and more to the point than a Pulitzer haiku.
Actually, it is quite jaunty.
Jaunty?
Oh come on, he said, eyes rolling, You can’t tell me that is bothersome. Words are powerful, Marcy. One mustn’t be afraid of language.
I leaned in to him, noting the scent of Irish Spring and Swiss Army aftershave – a lethal combination in the best of times which of course, this wasn’t.
Listen, I am a writer. I know from language. I get words. Trust me. Don’t dick around with things like the C word and tell me it is jaunty and powerful. It unacceptable, you misogynistic idiot.
Game over. My (male) pretence of being a good sport and laissez faire was done. I was indeed, the girl again. And in a pique.
There was a pause. He chucked without mirth, as they say.
He paid for the coffees.
He turned to me and said,
You know – I am a little hurt by your tone. The 'C' word can even be endearing and it took me years to get in touch with my inner bitch – my feminine side – so to speak, and use it. And you put me down for it.
Right.
I am a woman in a crazy café with a witless man who is lecturing me on feelings and the use of one particular 4-letter word that is, in essence, a distillation of all that is evil and base and sad and more to the point than a Pulitzer haiku.
We made our way out of the coffee shop; he dropped his thermal gloves and asked that I get the door while he picked them up. Sure. I opened the door for him and he bristled at the chilly air.
Brrr, cold, he said – really cold. I think tomorrow will be an old-fashioned Irish oatmeal day. You know – it lowers your blood cholesterol? I serve it in these new Pier 1 bowls I got – that have a feng shui design on them’.
I felt the gag reflex revisit.
Call me, he said cheerfully, walking away to his eco-friendly Camry.
There is this great line Jack Nicholson says in the end of the film Something’s Got To Give. He says, standing on the bridge in the Paris moonlight, feeling he’s lost Diane Keaton, wiping a few tears from his eyes, with a wry smile, “Look who gets to be the girl’.
I like that line.
I know what he means. Me too.
My next romance?
I want to get to be the girl.
Call me, he said cheerfully, walking away to his eco-friendly Camry.
There is this great line Jack Nicholson says in the end of the film Something’s Got To Give. He says, standing on the bridge in the Paris moonlight, feeling he’s lost Diane Keaton, wiping a few tears from his eyes, with a wry smile, “Look who gets to be the girl’.
I like that line.
I know what he means. Me too.
My next romance?
I want to get to be the girl.
A real girl.
