Many, many years ago, I was in a relationship with a woman who loved me and had a wonderful plan for my life. In fact, the plan she had for my life was a hell of a lot bigger than my own plan. She saw us in an elegant home in a historic neighborhood, surrounded by wealthy friends who talk about Martha Stewart the way some people talk about the Dalai Lama. She saw us with designer furniture, white carpeting, one of those gigantic commercial kitchen ranges you buy for your cook to use, and not a single cat to be seen scratching at all our antiques and custom upholstery.
I told her, 'my bohemian lifestyle is part of my appeal.'
'Up to a point, yes,' she replied. But we had reached that point, at least in her mind, and it was time for me to clean up, buy an appropriate car, quit wearing baggy t-shirts and old jeans on weekends, switch my voter registration, and make friends with the movers and shakers. (I was a reporter. I already knew all the movers and shakers. If I had wanted to be friends with them, I already would have been.)
I eventually left her by literally climbing out a window to escape.
I mention this because if you read back into previous months and years of ths blog, it sounds like I've spent my whole life mooning over unavailable Stevie Nicks types.
In fact, sometimes I'm the one who was unavailable.
2 comments:
I've dated women who treat me like a used car. I'll be perfect if we can just replace or repair a few parts, get re-upholstered and have that dent taken out of the bumper. Part of the problem is that I've got a lot of miles on me and even if you replace the battery, sooner or later the alternater is going to give out. Then, it'll be heater fan. Then, it's the drivetrain and that whole transmission is going to have to go. The wash and wax was a good thing, but don't you think we could repaint?
Mostly, they get tired of their Ford Taurus, no matter how well maintained, and want to upgrade to a newer model Toyota Camry.
To be blunt and profane: for every beautiful woman you see, there's some guy out there who is tired of putting up with her shit.
C'est la vie.
Blogblah
I love that image of you (or any guy) climbing out of a window to escape some insufferable woman.
Women of the world, a word of advice:
if you want a Rolls-Royce, BUY a fucking Rolls. Don't buy a Buick and try to transform into a Rolls.
Neither the Buick nor you will be happy with the results, and the fucked-up friends you're so desperate to impress won't be fooled.
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