Can’t say I didn’t try. New chap, introduced by mutual friend in hopes that a successful romance could bloom. He’d enjoyed a big success early in his career brought about solely by strength of his own brilliance. Clearly smart, energetic, big traveler, nice first dinner followed by a few more and many calls/emails. Fun…enough to keep investigating. Hilarity ensued.
In our getting to know you chats we discovered many shared interests, including the opera. A few dinners later we decided we’d take a road trip to one a few short hours away. Risky on one level but how else was I, were we, going to find out if something could bloom? A few weeks later, off we went. Two rooms at a VERY swank hotel, positioned discretely across the hall from one another. There’d been a stop for a challenging hike and some cooing on the five hour drive enroute and a glass of wine over dinner, maybe two…being in the same room for some further exploration seemed the thing to do. As he reached for me on the bed now…that first reach, he starts talking rapid fire about jewelry and what pieces he had owned, sold and now prefers to wear…of particular note was “a very expensive Swiss watch.”
“Forge ahead” I think …”maybe it will get better.”
I think he was onto a trip he had taken to Russia as he was reaching for my posterior.
“Forge ahead” I think, “maybe it will get better.”
A pause… “Promising” I think. Then its over. Over? I know because he’s snoring. I slinked back to my room trying to figure out WTF just happened?
Next day we go to a spa…private hot tub to be followed by massage. We’re in the beautiful, private outdoor space…a very nice setting. In true 60’s style he bounced out of the cabana buck naked and now in daylight I see to my horror that his nether region has been waxed within an inch of its life. All that remains is a tiny Hitler like mustache at the top of the disappointing apparatus. Well, its a choice I guess. I can adjust? Against my will, my mind travels to imagining what that waxing session must have been like?
We’re in the tub…jets going…could be romantic. Instead, he stands with his back to me facing the jets which, if he crouches, and he proceeds to do so in a sort of rapid bobbing plie motion… by my estimation will jet his whatnots. So much for romantic. He is however telling me of his trip to the Mustang region of Nepal, bobbing apace all the while.
Nice dinner…I learn a lot about his brilliant and pioneering work in computers, all very interesting as it was truly outside the box thinking. “I’m impressed. I’m inspired.” I think as we leave the restaurant. Not terribly late…dinner went well…maybe things will stir? Nope…off he goes to his room with “Nite, nite. Lites out, jammies on!” and with some relief frankly, I retreat to mine. “Breakfast in bed.” he says over the phone the next morning. OK. Maybe he’s a morning person? I go next door in a sort of drapey beach wrap number. Room service trays, Sunday Times…all very nice. A few stories about his 46, literally, trips to Argentina. The wrap strategically draped, I muster a come hither energy to the best of my morning ability and…nada. Not a glance, nod or comment…just nada.
He does however tell me about his face products…many of which he’d found on a recent trip to Paris. He has many, many more than I. Serum, toners, creams for day and night, puffy days, dry days, masques, sun screen…then the choice of perfumes… Again I’m impressed but not really in the way I was hoping for. Wardrobe consultation…should he don the peach from Istanbul or the pink from London? I go with the pink. He enthusiastically agrees as its “Fresh, like a summer splash.” I then give myself a pep talk in my head, “I am not a beached whale, I am not a beached whale.”
Delights on the weekend were aplenty… galleries, friends, restaurants, the opera (which was extraordinary), etc. and I will say that he was fun, engaging. Could well be we’d travel again together as buddies now that it was abundantly clear what we would not be.
Deep breath. On to the next.