“What time you getting here tonight, hmm?
And how do you take your coffee in the morning?”
I giggled, wishing I had a pink Princess phone so I could twirl the Slinky™-like cord in between my fingers. I relished the sexy sound of his voice. And I loved that he was a good tennis partner, who could keep up with my propensity for “bits,” and lob them right back at me.
The very thought of getting naked with a guy like this got me all in a tizzy. I’d never been with a guy like this. A guy who… who… okay I guess I should just say it…
A guy who WAS NOT… IN…. SHOW BUSINESS!
Isn’t that HOT? He wasn’t writing a screenplay, wasn’t “thinking about trying standup now that his divorce was final,” and wasn’t an actor who’s career consisted of getting new head shots and teaching kundalini yoga, but was “totally cool that I’m successful at my chosen ‘craft’.” (Ewww! Did he just say “craft?” Non-ironically?) One of my least favorite words to EVER hear out of an actor’s mouth is the word CRAFT. Blech! Shut UP! I don’t give a shit about your craft. Now hit your mark and know your lines and for god’s sake take that conspicuous book of poems sticking out of your back pocket and shove it up your pretentious arshole! Craft. Feh!!
“Craft” is a word that should only be used when construction paper and elbow macaroni are involved. (And glitter. There should always be glitter.)
So no- he was not in show business. In fact, he was not in ANY business. Okay, look- he didn’t have a job. He wasnt unemployed. He just… hadn’t had a job in over 20 years. He was 49. He’d been a stay-at-home dad pre-divorce, and was now living off of the alimony he was collecting from his ex-wife. Yup. But wait- it gets better!
He also didn’t have… a home. Yup! I was relishing this triste with a guy who was basically a sexy homeless dude. He seemed, in that moment, a perfectly appropriate romantic partner for me. Me! Who has wined all my dating life about men who disappear, men who come on strong then get all wet-noodly, and my favorite… men who do the HOT/COLD/HOT/COLD/HOT/GONE dance.
But he was sexy. And I needed to feel sexy again. So… as we finalized our plans for the night on my fictitious pink Princess phone, I asked him in a voice as seductive as I could manage while secretly emptying my recycle bin , “Do you drink coffee, sexy homeless man? Or tea? Coffee, huh? Mmmm. What do you take in your coffee, sexy homeless man?” etc.
It was sexy all right. The chemistry we had was crazy-good, and we had so much in common, despite the fact that I… oh, how do I put this? Earn a living? But was he “relationship material?” Hellll to the no! But whatever chemicals or dopamine were swimming around in my body and my brain that day made me convince myself otherwise, though I never would’ve admitted to it. And I knew that this night was gonna be THE night– the night when some “biblical knowing” was gonna be goin’ on in my little bedouin tent.
But just because I was prepared to be a “bad girl“ didn’t mean I wanted to forget my good manners. And if things wound up going the way I’d hoped they would, then we’d be gazing into each others’ eyes over hot beverages the next morning. And I wanted to have whatever condiments he might desire on hand. So back to my original question:
“How do you take your coffee, sexy homeless man?”
Now, this line of questioning started OUT sexy, but then (because I’m me) it quickly devolved into more of a neurotic demand for grocery list specifics: “What kind of sweetener? Unh huh. Okay. Well, wait– do you mean Stevia? Or Splenda? I can’t remember which color that one is. Yellow? Okay. Do you like pancakes? Like… is gluten a problem?” And on and on it went.
Way to put the kabash on that sexual tension you’d worked so hard to achieve, Mare! Why don’t you tell him about a coupon you just got in the mail or how Xylitol makes you gassy while you’re at it!
Despite all this, he came over anyway. And there was biblical knowing. And stuff. And it wasn’t a “I never heard from him again” type situation. But a couple of weeks or a month later (however long it was) I opened the fridge one night and noticed that pint of half and half I’d bought for him. It was still unopened. He hadn’t even used it. It was still perfectly good, as far as the date on the carton indicated. And yet– it was clear to me that my choice in men was…. not good. The coffee creamer I’d bought him lasted longer than my romance with the sexy homeless dude.
There oughtta be a smell test. For men.
Actually… there is. Behold! The WORST, most DISTASTEFUL MUSIC VIDEO ever made. But it has one thing going for it. The woman is smelling something bad in her relationship choice, and she IS prepared to do a SMELL TEST.
Lovers- Please enjoy the music video for the song known as “Smell Yo Dick.” You’re welcome.