There are two great advantages to being a guy:
1. We can take our shirts off in public, and
2. We can urinate standing up.
I came to appreciate the first of these during my 20 mile run, and the second using the port-a-potties at the jazz festival. And I'm pleased to report that there were no....misunderstandings at any of the public restrooms I used over the weekend.
Really, how do misunderstandings arise in the first place? I've cruised through (well, not "cruised") the Minneapolis Airport maybe a dozen times and on the rare occasions that I've needed to use a stall I've always managed to keep my feet on my side of the partition.
Anyway, Friday night I had a date with Marla at a Gold Coast tapas establishment---the food was decidedly mediocre and left me thinking that maybe the mini-boom in tapas restaurants will leave us with as many so-so Spanish places as there are Italian and Chinese. We finished our dinner and I came back from the restroom to find that Marla had already paid the bill!
I'm a dating traditionalist---when I go out with a girl, I expect to pick up the tab. And I do. But it's really nice to be surprised once in awhile...
After dinner we went to a piano bar in my neighborhood where a German film crew was setting up. I ordered scotch, she ordered white wine and we looked around the joint.
"David, is it my imagination or..."
"No, it's not your imagination...."
I was probably one of only two heterosexual men in the place. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course.
The show was deliciously campy cabaret style, and when it ended we moved down the street to Nick's. Two drinks later, we were back in my apartment for the night.
We made impromptu plans to catch the jazz festival the next day, and I have to say that's it's a pleasure to go out with someone who has an appreciation for jazz. I will catch heat over this, but why does it seem that serious jazz aficionados are almost always male? Sorry, Kenny G doesn't qualify as jazz. Diana Krall is a first step. A baby step. The iconography of jazz is cool---everybody I date is excited about going to the Green Mill and sipping martinis in that famously infamous former Capone speakeasy but, as often as not, she talks over the music the entire time. A big no-no.
After the jazz fest, we joined the enormous throng of college football tourists at Bennigan's where I ordered a medium burger twice---and where, twice, it arrived burnt to a crisp. The manager apologized and said that they no longer cook the meat more rare than medium. The burgers, of course, were nowhere near medium. I could have played frisbee with the patties. I gave the server the customary 15%, however---it's not the servers fault if the cook is incompetent. I should know better than to eat in a restaurant where they're passing out jello shots to drunk football fans.
At any rate, we ended the night with a drink at Nick's and stayed at my place again.
In the morning, I took off for a 20-mile run, the longest of my marathon training.
Except for coming down with a bad cold yesterday, it was a fun weekend. If I were an accountant tallying, I would say this for Marla:
In her favor: she is fun, relaxed, good socially, appears to be emotionally stable and comfortable in her skin.
Against her: her body is....disproportionate. Above the waist, she has one body. Below the waist, she is carrying a bit of extra weight. It's not noticable when she's sitting down or wearing a dress. However, when she wears jeans it becomes readily apparent.
Don't get me wrong---I'm not into the concentration camp survivor look. I like a girl with a little meat on her bones and zaftig is fine with me. However, I find myself wishing she were.....a little lighter in the ass.
I also feel kinda bad that it bothers me, but.....gotta be honest.
Gonna stay in this week and try to get over my cold. Christy is coming into town on Saturday.
4 comments:
Sounds like Marla has a hip to waist ratio which is a bit higher than highly desired .70. Next time she is over and sleeping you should wrap a tape measure around her and calculate her exact ratio. If this number is higher than .70 it could explain your feelings.
Hope you feel better soon!
Hmm. The ass thing is one of those things you can never, ever bring up, because if you even allude to it once, you're fucked (or not, depending on how you want to look at it) for the rest of the time you know her. It's one of those things women remember forever, and no matter how cool she is, it will be brought up again, guaranteed. Most likely in the middle of a fight. So, D, you have to ask yourself: is it more ok with you to learn to love the ghetto booty, or to perhaps have a drink thrown in your face for replying honestly that, yes, she does in fact look a bit chubby in those pants. Conundrum.
Alice:
You are sooo right. You can never, ever, ever tell a woman that she looks chubby in something. When she asks, it's for validation. It would be like telling a man he has a small penis.
Of course, she's never asked, either.
The human body is strange---I've seen guys who have normal frames except that they're carrying around giant beer bellies and women who have appear regularly proportioned until you see that the fat has gone to their asses.
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