That he is a tortured personality is evident- he wears it as plainly as he wears his snug patterned sweater that he says makes him look like Teddy Ruxpin. He was an intensely disciplined student and lived at home throughout his education because, he explained, that is what immigrant children do. He
was devoutly religious in his 20s, then became whipsawed by the vagaries of
practicing the religion. Didn't understand why his mother bought kosher meat,
but ate in non kosher restaurants, didn't understand how to integrate sexuality and chaste piety
into the modern world. He
says he missed his window- he should have married young in his culture to have
lots of children and a religious home and not worry about a soulful
relationship. Now in his advanced years (38), it is too late and there is little
point in marrying as it would involve prenups (he's apparently a very successful
radiologist), and certainly no point in being in a relationship for anything
other than a great connection. He is odd, completely lacking in filter, but altogether intriguing. I admire his self madeness- he is impressive in both intellect and accomplishment. Unlike many men I've been on dates with, I feel like he is quick to pull back some kind of curtain.
As we finally order, the waitress specifically asks us to wear masks
when she approaches the table, and he ignores her. He explains to me that he has
both had Covid and was vaccinated, and under his breath says he shouldn't have to obey this courtesy
since he is paying. He also fumbles around for what turns out to be a Juul, and
occasionally smokes it at the table. We order markdown food and
markdown prosecco, and I don't eat much because he nearly inhales it, and I have barely recovered from an earlier migraine. I am also on such an intensely strict diet to feel thin enough to date again that even cardboard
pizza tastes like heaven to me...but that is a story for another day.
What is the protein of this story, you ask? It is this: the disease of people talking shittily about previous dates to their current date has to be one of the greatest offenses in modern dating. Compliments when told in the shadow of
disparaging other women feel very hollow. He says things I begrudgingly want to
hear- he's surprised that I'm as smart as he is (arrogant), I have gravitas that
other women he has dated don't have (the start of what would be an endless
diatribe against what seems to be MANY women, with Jewish Manhattanites as his most vilified target),
I'm attractive and witty and cultured, yada, yada. These women talk about the interesting
things they do and how fabulous they are, but they buy this interestingness as
easily as they purchase a class at SoulCycle, rather than actually earning it.
At
one point, unnerved by his vitriol, I tell him that I strongly believe we all need to be a little kinder
to each other. I know it sounds a little cumbaya, particularly to someone
carrying a tortoise shell of resentment towards the opposite sex, but I say it
anyways- we meet people for 90 minutes over an unpleasurable meal because it
isn't fun to eat in front of strangers who are eyeing you up the way my cousins
in Texas look at hogs at livestock shows. We ask meaningless questions, we give polite answers and we hope that some spark of connection and humanity click while we slam drinks. We pass judgement and then tell
subsequent dates about how vile and judgemental people are. In writing this, I know that I am also making him a caricature, with traits as outsized and unshaded as a portrait artist at Disneyland (he is now the Iranian Radiologist from the Upper East Side with a Chip on His Shoulder and Wandering Hands). This feels like a virulent strain I see popping up in the dating set- we reduce people to nothing so they fit in the little box we designed for them. But these people have their people who love them- families, friends, coworkers. They are real and worth something. I try to keep these comments as unharpylike as possible, and he manages to blow by them as quickly as he rips through our crappy pizza.
He says he loves that I don't have
make up on (I do) because he's in constant need of dry cleaning because these
vile, hungry women sully his collar with their concealer when they get close. He also
explains that the more women say they are into sex, the less likely they are to be the fun, kinky ones. These women pretend for so long in order to keep him happy
that they eventually get addicted to it once he unleashes his animal fucking on
them, because he used all his meaningful lovemaking in his 20s and now only has
angry ferocity left. He says that I’m refined and communicate with a sophistication he isn’t able to; he says he is wholly unable to censor himself and make himself polite. I personally have a hard time believing this.
I am foolish- for 90 minutes, I let the compliments numb me to his crassness, I
don't fight when he reaches over to start kissing, don't pull away when he wraps me in an embrace in a doorway on Amsterdam. This has been a long, cold winter, and touching someone else feels extraordinary. For a first date performance, I feel like I'm holding it together. I'm not shrinking in intimidation (these days, men who walk upright feel out of my league), and I'm letting him run his mouth with probably more tolerance than he deserves. I'm trying to balance tolerance with observance- as my mother likes to parrot Maya Angelou's great quote,
"when someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time".
He tells me
as we walk out in the cold that he wants to do things to me- lurid detail that
is so surprising, I almost can't reconcile it with a man who has told me he
is riveted by my intellect, and wore slacks and dress shoes to impress me in 30 degree
weather. I know doctors and I get that there is a total lack of filter with
some- but it takes me a couple days to really settle in that perhaps a fellow
shouldn't be telling you he wants to bury his face in your vagina while you're walking down
Central Park West after a first date. He asks me to come home with him and promises to just watch me and not touch- I tell him no, kiss him goodbye, and head home. In the moment I laugh it all off- in the
morning, I feel unsettled and ill at ease, and have a very strong suspicion I
won't see him again.
Some days I feel like I am 39 going on 19- I still don't
understand men, don't understand the boundaries I should adhere to, and
(pitifully) rarely understand how my worth plays into this market. Its a battle to stay open minded and
easy going, yet strong within your identity and principles- as I've aged, I
greatly admire people who understood this from a young age.
A loud mouthed buyer I have a soft spot for from Roslyn with an accent you could cut with a knife recently
told me I need to go have some fun and "get the stink off" me. I just don't need
someone dressed like Teddy Ruxpin who smokes Juuls in a restaurant in a pandemic
to piss on my leg, if you know what I mean. Even if he is a doctor with
second-home money potential.
Highlights of the evening
1) Inadequate prosecco
accompanied by the bachelor's wispy puffs of Juul leaves the palate longing for
a more refined offering.
2) When someone mentions step brother porn in a first chat,
take them seriously. It will not get better from there.
3) In my business we say
"A best seller is a best seller is a best seller". Pray on that one.
