Back in 1986, when
Mickey Rourke was actually almost “hot” the film “Nine and ½ Weeks” came out, there was a scene that really stuck with me.
Kim Basinger’s character is sitting in her office talking to her girlfriend (and I’m paraphrasing here; it’s not like I’ve seen the movie
at least six times more than twice) and says that “the difference between him and the other men I’ve dated in the past is with the others, I always “knew” what would cause the demise of the relationship. It might be a tie he wears, how he eats his soup or something that he says at a party or how he kisses you differently one afternoon. And suddenly you know. And then you file it under your memory for future reference and it doesn’t really catch you by surprise later on when it’s finally over. You just know the thing that will end it. But with this guy, I just don’t know.”….
Two and half decades later I can tell you, Basinger’s character was absolutely right. Straight out of the O files, here is a random sampling of things that happened or words that were said that turned a relationship
into a sunken ship sour and brought some of my romances to a grinding halt an unhappily ever after, even before some of them had nowhere to go at all started:
We were sitting in a restaurant having dinner and he was talking about his last girlfriend. While
loudly masticating on his veal with morels and cutting it as if he had arthritis in both hands, he said, “The one thing I don’t have to worry about is getting jealous because you’re not that beautiful. (Insert loud chewing noises) You won’t draw that kind of attention.” You’re right, you arrogant, monotone Finnish turd vampire. I don’t draw or play with crayons. I paint on really big canvases. Asshole.
I can’t remember what number two: He was the guy who had been married three times (he was a little like Larry King in that he married his first wife again on the third round) and had recently ended a five-year relationship with a woman whom he described as “retarded”.
“Excuse me?” I asked, not sure if I
knew where my valet ticket was had heard him correctly.
“I thought she was a little vulnerable when I met her shortly after her husband died. I had no idea she really didn’t know how to balance a checkbook because she couldn’t do math. Until the last few months.” And you own a basebll team, bank and mortgage company, sir?
You should have heard him talk about his mother. This was all before he ordered the Caesar salad with the extra anchovies. It was our first date. The screeching tire marks remain in the parking lot of that establishment.
Then there was the
infant in the playpen with the rattle man who had never left the country, had been married six times and only drank tequila who was looking for a first mate for his ugly little boat. I was set up why with this man? I remember now. We had so much in common. He’s Jewish. Oy.
In between, there were some men who, for one reason
s too numerous to mention or another just didn’t click or missed the g-spot mark completely.
One of them used to hum. Incessantly. Another, had issues with
dental hygiene his ex. Yet another was still with his never to be ex. There was the man who didn’t really know anything about like kissing. There was the Ivy League tightwad conservative who only took me out on his company's dime. Add to this an assortment of philanderers, one or two heart t hrobs breakers and a handful of just plain scaredy cats. Throw in several commitment -phobic men and put me on "Top Chef" for the quick fire challenge.
I could just picture Padma saying, “Pack your
penis knives and go home.”
I know I did.
Call me lucky. If only I had learned all those lessons in nine and half weeks instead of a lifetime, I could have been a contender.
In Hell’s Kitchen.