I watched “Brief Interviews with Hideous Men” last night and it took me back to my dating days, a long stretch of time by most standards since I was single until age 36.
How I survived that era without becoming a black widow is beyond me. The fact that I didn’t get the urge to lace my lemon poppy seed scones with rat poison and feed them to some hapless oaf is actually a testament to my patient and kind nature. Although would the world really miss the guy who marveled at my library card, or the one who pulverized an entire box of Cap’n Crunch in the blender, downed it with milk, then laid on the floor writhing in pain an hour later?
God must have taken pity on me somewhere along the line because I eventually met my soul mate and am now happily married. The years of trial and error paid off and the wait was well worth it, but just when I thought we were all snug as bugs in rugs, two of my best girlfriends ended up divorced and the dating sagas began all over again.
Not that it’s all bad. For instance, when Jan decided to kick out her husband of 18 years, I was actually relieved. No longer would I be forced to endure watching Jim flirt with the waitress when we double dated at a restaurant or listen to how he wanted his steak prepared for the 100th time. “Slap it on the rear and slap it on my plate,” was his favorite saying. Best of all, I wouldn’t go home smelling like the Aqua Velva he bathed in prior to hugging me after downing seven boilermakers.
My friend Sally who is now divorced is also dating and often can’t see past the smarmy charm of her would-be suitors, despite the fact that her IQ is through the roof. Her last bf Bill turned out not only to be a serial dater (unlike my cereal dater), but also married. I now insist that she screen all her dates through the website “Don’tDateHimGirl.com.” You guessed it—we found Bill, in all his seamy and sordid splendor on there—outed by one of his exes.
The only advice I can give them both is to set their standards higher than they did the first time. I always trot out a particularly boorish ex whom I’ll only refer to as Lou Zerr as an example of how I sometimes took leave of my senses, as well.
I’m not really sure they appreciate my sage counsel since they always seem to change the subject when I mention it, but hey, I guess there’s always rat poison!