Background (re-post I) on Evil Surfer Dude so you can comprehend the gravity of the possible upcoming booty call.
Perhaps it was the peer pressure of my former colleagues that convinced me re-think my "rules". I have rules when it comes to dating. I used to have the three (3) month rule.
Seven years ago I adopted: The No-hanky-panky-until-the-wedding-night rule.
I know. I KNOW! I slipped up before. But not in seven (7) years. Not once. That means ... you know what it means. Seven (7) years is a LONG time.
See, when I turned 40 I just decided to stop being a "performance artists." I held a press conference where I announced with solemnity, "The next man I am with WILL be my husband. Thank you. I will now accept questions." (reporters rush in with microphones)
My "rules" led me to many long term relationships (longer then many marriages). I slipped up, of course, but not until obtaining certain "assurances". There were always a marriage proposals, which I deflected.
This time, I didn't wait.
Along came surfer dude. (This is a re-post. He had not yet earned the title "Evil Surfer Dude".)
He's weird, unnattractive, attentive, educated, financially secure and never married. After a couple of months he began bandying about the love/marriage combo punch in addition to the "I've never felt this way before" maneuver followed by the "how do you feel about spending the rest of your life with me" upper cut. (I've always been immune to this manipulation).
Then, I got laid off from my job. Suddenly, I was vulnerable.
Throw in the early onset of menopause and yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I heard blasting sirens. Whir whir. "Warning, middle aged woman's expiration date approaching. Abandon ship/rules.
With morbid thoughts of a future eating cat food from my curbside home on 73rd and La Cienega (under a cozy bridge) I lept to the conclusion; maybe he's the one? It won't be so bad, I mean it's better then living under a bridge.
Public Service Announcement: Fear of living under a bridge is not the proper foundation for marriage.
Quote from our last date:
Surfer Dude: "What's this stuck on the bottom of my flip flop?
Charmaine: "I dunno".
Surfer Dude: "It looks like your hormone patch". Oh my God, it IS your hormone patch!
Charmaine: Failes to respond.
4 comments:
So did you do it? Are you done now? I mean really done? Cuz you always do that back and forth bullshit. Details.
OMG, so did you do it? What was the whole patch deal? Was he grossed out? you didn't break up cause of that...right???
Can't keep us hanging like this!
The patch episode was the most embarassing moment of my life. Well, of that day. It's normal "home" my lower abdomen. (Nice visual eh?)
As he was plucking away at it, with the lightening quick reflexes of an ally cat I pointed in the opposite direction and said, "So, what inspired your decision to paint that guest bathroom pink?" "It's not pink, it's called Enchilada". "Really?" "Yes".
"Well, my enchiladas are green so...I don't really get that".
And...drum roll please. Um. Yea. I did it.
You may now...scream.
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