The art of being a man-snob

by A.E. Storm in The Climacteric | 0 comments

Two days after Charlie and I had experienced our curious first encounter in the skin care aisle of a Smith’s grocery store and the ensuing dinner-date that could only be described as warm and cuddly, he thought it normal dating etiquette to offer an invitation to a family function — his niece, Jasmine, is turning seven. I’m quite certain that if he had asked me in person instead of through the ever-engaging text message he would have been as shocked by my expression as I was by his glibness.

‘Hey Tommy, on Fri. my niece Jasmine turns 7 n we are having a family party for her. My parents, aunts n uncles n grandparents will be there. What do you say?!!? Don’t worry we will stay inconspicuous.’

I decided to ignore it until I could reason a polite letdown, but I also felt it may take several hours. I have learned that my reaction to situations that make me uncomfortable is palpable. Sometimes I respond with sarcasm: “By inconspicuous do you mean in clown suits.” Sometimes I revert to being flippant: “Really, sure! Let me first swallow a bottle of Oxycodone.” Other times I simply may venture a story of a terminally ill family member that I’m immediately obligated to care for in Croatia. Although I admit this last excuse nearly always ends up with a few disparaging flaws.

I then decided I needed some help so I called Geoff, whom I consider my greatest support. When I asked how I should respond, his all-too-quick antiphon (as if he had it memorized) was, “Tommy, do you want to be alone forever.” Really, as supportive as a girdle.

“Well, no but … ”

“Stop there,” he demanded. “You are so picky when it comes to guys. They aren’t cantaloupe, you can’t just sniff-and-squeeze them hoping for perfection.” Though it wasn’t implied, the simile was alluring.

“I know, I just have high expectations and … ” I started to say.

“You are scared,” Geoff interrupted. “You are scared of being in a relationship.” Lucky for me that was only the start of his tangent. “You really need to learn to just enjoy the companionship, enjoy the sex, enjoy the little things. Eventually the person will have met your expectations without you even realizing it.”

“What?” I asked befuddled.

“Because your expectations will have changed,” he replied. “Trust me … stop being a man-snob!”

“Uumm … I don’t think that’s a word.”

“Geez Tommy, does everything have to be so literal for you, so precise.” It was difficult to tell by his tone if that was a rhetorical question, but I proffered it as one.

“Fine. So you’re saying I should go to his family party.” I deduced.

“Yes!” Geoff blurted it out like I needed to be hit with a dip-shit paddle. I was turning irritable.

“Okay, okay! I’ll go. But if I get trapped with his grandmother all day playing pinochle or … shaving his grandpa’s back, I’m coming after you.”

“Shut up Tommy,” he countered lightheartedly. “Just try to enjoy yourself.”

We hung up and I scrolled through my phone book to the Cs, realizing that Charlie is the only C-name on my list. I smiled and considered it good karma. I pressed the call button. His end rang four times before going to voicemail: Hi, you’ve reached Charlie Carmichael. Unfortunately I am unable to take you’re call at this time. I would really like to get back to you as soon as possible, so please leave your name, number, and a brief message. Thank you so much and have a really great day, bye. Oh god, where’s that bottle of Oxycodone.

“Hi Charlie, how’s it going,” I said with muddled enthusiasm. “I got your message about the party and … ummm, sure … it sounds fun I guess. Oh, by the way, this is Tommy. Ummm … just call me back when you can and let me know what I should bring. Uh, and maybe tell me what I should get your niece as a gift. I mean I should take her a gift, right? Well, whatever, just call me back, okay? Bye.”  That was smooth, Tommy.

On the day of his niece’s party I was as jittery as a washing machine on the spin cycle. Charlie picked me up at my loft three minutes early (just as he had on our first date). I happen to favor punctuality. As I let him in, he leaned in and kissed me, which was unexpected since we hadn’t kissed before. It was, however, a freaking great first kiss.

“Are you alright,” he asked after our lips parted. “You seem nervous.”

“No, no. That was just really nice.” I smiled. Oh, thank god, he smiled back.

We drove to Holladay where his parents own an older two-story brick rambler with a large yard, which was customary in that area thirty years ago. When we arrived the party was in full swing; a cackle of screaming seven-year-old girls dressed as fairy princesses were running circles around a playhouse. I wondered if Prince Charming was inside chained to a chair scared out of his wits.

One princess, I came to notice, looked awkward among the others, like the black swan. She was constantly grabbing at the ruffles in her green dress like they were in her way; her knees were scraped and she held her wand like a rifle. Her hair was cut haphazardly short to her scalp and was all mussed.

“Well, there’s a bull semen collector in the making,” I joked.

“That’s my niece Jasmine.” If certain looks could make heads explode, I’d have been the Headless Horseman at that moment. I gave a weak smile, already wishing I could jump into a well.