I am pals with a young woman in her late twenties who recently dumped her boyfriend of six years because he A) may have a drug problem, B) may have a gambling problem and C) couldn’t commit. Okay, so the question isn’t why can’t he commit but why would she want to. This friend, who I’ll call Paris, because dating in this town can be so sleazy, promptly put herself on the market and posted her profile on Match.com.
Paris is very pretty. Like the more famous Paris of the hotel family, she is blond and blue eyed, though not anorexic, but is obsessed with her small dog. She also has an annoying sidekick for a best friend. No, not me, another friend.
Paris got many hits on Match, and after much deliberation, set up a date with one guy. They went to lunch. They clicked. They laughed. He said he’d call her. She never heard from him.
She tried again, and set up a lunch with another guy. They were inseparable for three days. He had her meet his best friend. That went well. Or so she thought. Two days passed and there was no word from beau number 2. Then he sent an email, saying that he was really busy, but liked her company, but needed to take things slow, but was definitely interested, but. . .
They would talk on the phone nightly, and see each other about once a week. Then his ex-girlfriend re-entered the picture. Her mother was dying. He needed to be there for her. But he was still interested in Paris. But he couldn’t spend much time with her. But he really liked her.
The ex-girlfriend’s mother died about four days later. Paris and Beau #2 started seeing more of each other. Then the ex-girlfriend broke up with her current boyfriend. Beau #2 started getting busy with work again.
Paris got fed up with the games. She went back to Match and started looking. In the meantime, another friend set her up. The guy had been in a semi-famous Southern California band. He showed up for the date drunk. About 15 minutes into the date, he leaned over and a bottle of Xanax fell out of his pocket. She handed him the bottle. He said, “oh thanks,” and tossed a couple back. Rudely, he did not offer her any.
That was their only date. Paris is concentrating on her career right now, and thinking seriously about becoming a playgirl, a female Heff. That way she doesn’t have to worry about men with short attention spans. I told her that was all well and good, just don’t start dressing like some Vegas ho-bag.
As I write this, my husband of 15 years is sleeping next to me. Snoring. Loudly. It’s not even 9:30 for God’s sake, and he’s out like a 10-year old boy drinking libations at Neverland Ranch.
What’s the moral of the story? None. Except maybe it’s really hard for us ladies to keep a guy’s attention. They are either snaking after ex-girlfriends or snoring. Snoring is safer and doesn’t hurt your feelings. So I’ll take snoring, and be thankful that I don’t have to worry about blind dates showing up drunk and popping Xanax – and not offering me any.
