My boyfriend of seven months, who’s 43, just moved in with me. Several days ago, he unpacked his “stuffed animal collection,” which consists of 12 teddy bears given to him by ex-girlfriends, and perched them all on the top of our couch. Am I petty to let this bother me? Some of them say things like “Love Margie” or “Happy Valentines Day, baby.”
--Invaded
Who knew in-your-face hostility could be so furry and cute? But, there it is, all “Love Margie,” in a little motorcycle jacket and a tiny scarf and goggles on the teenage girl’s bedspread that used to be your living room couch.
At what point do you stop parsing how petty is too petty so you can unzip your skin and run away screaming? Now, to be fair, I have a friend who’s into stuffed animals. Her name is Sophie, and she’s 7. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, is a grown man -- somebody who shaves, pays taxes and will soon get prostate exams -- and he collects teddy bears? And, no, he didn’t amass all 12 by accident, with each girlfriend arriving at the idea herself: “Whoops, I have yet to buy my big, hairy, adult male boyfriend a stuffed toy!”
Personally, I’d be less creeped out by a boyfriend with a collection of brains in Mason jars (providing he mail-ordered them from Body Parts “R” Us and didn’t just help himself to parting gifts from my predecessors). But, there you are, neck deep in Edgar Allan Poe meets Winnie The Pooh, wondering whether you’re being fair. What, exactly, is a dealbreaker for you? A guy who brings his mom on dates? One who wears diapers, and not because he leaks? Or are you more of a classicist, drawing the line at a guy who keeps his mother’s skeleton in the attic, dresses up in her clothes, and runs around waving a long knife to a Bernard Herrmann soundtrack?
If somebody’s a wack job (and we all are on some level), the least they can do is be discreet -- especially if their particular brand of wack involves a retrospective of their ex-girlfriends in stuffed-animal form. Your boyfriend could have a secret cache of teddy bears at his storage space, complete with a little altar that lights up, and a tiny table and chairs where he and the bears can have naked tea parties. Instead, he’s installed his ménagerie à twelve in your living room -- probably because reminding you and himself of Margie and friends is the point. Awww, the poor dear, he must not have gotten the right kind of mommying as a child. Why should he sweat the abandonment issues now, when it’s so much easier to shove this cuddly-wuddly wall between you?
Maybe, if you can get him to go suck his thumb in some therapist’s office, he might someday join you in an adult relationship. Then again, maybe your energy would be better spent on your own behavioral shortcomings, lest you find yourself asking the next guy in your life, “Shall I clear a wall for a photo gallery of your former girlfriends?” Feel that long bumpy strip down the center of your back? That’s a spine, waiting to be used -- whenever somebody motions you to remain prone so they can more conveniently wipe their feet on your back. It’s hard enough coming to a respectful compromise with a boyfriend who wants to hang his neon Bud sign in your French Country living room. When a guy decorates in Early Ex-Girlfriend, where do you even start? My suggestion: Call up the Playskool bus, and see if they’ve got room for a large, unshaven child with 13 stuffed bears.
February 5, 2006
The guy I’m dating has a habit of putting himself down -- making cracks about his chubby face, what’s wrong with his body, or how he’d better get some “male-enhancement” pills. We’ve gone out five times in six weeks, and he has yet to make moves on me. We do flirt, and yesterday he kissed me sweetly, then smacked me on the butt as I was leaving, which made me smile. Is his insecurity what’s making the relationship progress so slowly? And do you see reason for me to worry or pull back?
--Not Digging The Digs
Interspecies dating isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. You’ve heard the one about the girl who kisses the toad? In real life, the toad stays a toad and the girl comes down with a nasty case of amoebic dysentery.
It seems you missed the giant arrow flashing the words “mouth-breathing loser” hovering over this guy’s head. He’s just trying to bring it to your attention before somebody (like him) gets hurt. What happened, you were on the list for a bad boy, but in lieu of naked and nasty with the Prince of Darkness you settled for Dungeons & Dragons with the Prince of Dorkiness? Maybe that isn’t how you see him, but from the way he rags on himself, he probably assumes when a woman points in his direction it’s only because she wants her girlfriends to know who she’s laughing at. Of course, he probably is handed his share of apartment keys by women hot for sex, as in, “Be a dear and unclog my toilet while I’m out getting used by my cruel Adonis.” (Serf’s up, dude!)
Losers are not born but sentenced by a jury of their mean little peers. Once high school ends and the “cool” kids are busy getting hired and fired by 7-11 or making bail, what keeps somebody a loser is simply believing he is one and acting accordingly. Last month, I got a slew of e-mails from a male reader whose back had seen more stiletto action than the carpet at Jimmy Choo shoes. I responded time and again with detailed directions off Planet Loser, but the guy couldn’t help himself, and each story of his use and abuse was more pathetic than the last. Finally, patience not being one of my several virtues, I wrote, “Just go to a bar tonight and pretend you have dignity!” He did. The next morning, he e-mailed: “YOU! CHANGED! MY! LIFE!” All it took was a slight change in message: “I want to be your date” instead of “I want to be your dog.”
Pathetic is easy. In fact, it can be a form of sloth. Take your guy. Unlike all those other men, sweating to be what women want, he just curls up in his trusty old fetal position, resigned to the fact that it isn’t him. Now, maybe you can tunnel him out of Dudville by telling him to kill the hard un-sell and hammering into him that whatever he’s got, that’s what you want. Somebody’s gotta do all the work, why not you? Speaking of which, he’s probably one of those guys who waits for a woman to jump him. Taking charge is a great idea -- unless you’re a woman who’s looking to land a man. In that case, your best bet is flirting yourself dizzy to let him know it’s safe to make a move. In time, say by date eleven, when you’ve worked your way up to an erotically charged hug, it might become clearer whether you’ve got a man on your hands or just a big girl’s blouse with men’s bathroom privileges.
February 4, 2006
I’m a 24-year-old college student, single for over four years. Lately, every other girl I like hooks up with one of my friends, or agrees to a date with me, then calls to back out. Why is it so hard for me to get into a relationship now, let alone date? I’m in shape (5’6”/130 lbs.), intelligent, laid-back, and considered an okay guy. What steps do I take to find the right girl?
--Mr. Not Quite
Forget finding “the right girl.” Free yourself up to find the wrong girl now, because there’s no uglier time than midlife to have a midlife crisis. You jolt awake one morning prepared to sell your grandmother for a mean ride and loose women. As luck would have it, your grandmother is deader than your hair follicles, and your wife convulses with laughter at the idea of funding your automotive ambitions. The next thing you know, you’re the aging male version of a Catholic schoolgirl, pulling into the alley behind the grocery store before work to apply spray-on hair and snap gangsta hubs on the minivan.
If you’re like most people, you were Socrates as a teenager, a rare genius in a world of drooling morons. This makes it hard to recognize your 20s for what they should be, The Decade Of Extremely Bad Judgment: a lab to do dumb stuff and learn from it, taking care not to end up dead, incurably diseased, or in jail for more than two consecutive evenings. Sure, the official end of adolescence is 18, but for more and more people, it actually ends around 30. That’s their cue to start understanding exactly what idiots they’ve been, so they can try not to live and act so idiotically. Of course, some don’t hit this mark until 40. Others are still living in their parents’ garage at 55.
Let’s review freshman anthropology: Men like beautiful women, women like men with mojo. You’re a guy, 24, still in school, and girls probably picture you taking them on dates on the handlebars of your bike. What you really should be wondering about isn’t why you don’t get many dates, but why you get any dates at all. And, of course, girls too chicken to say no to your face will tell you, “Sure I’ll go out with you, just gimme a call,” then rush home to change their phone number. This is news to you? This is news to anyone?
Yes, sometimes “It’s not you, it’s me” really means “it’s you.” While it’s possible you’re coming on too strong, it’s likely you’re coming on too short. (Note to pint-sized angry letter writers: I’m just the messenger.) Studies show women prefer men who are taller than they are. Boguslaw Pawlowski, a Polish anthropologist, found that from a woman’s perspective, the ideal woman/man height ratio is about 1:1.09, which means the girls most disposed to see 5’6” you as more than their cute little friend are those around 5’0”.
Relax, crack the books, stop looking for girls, and just be on the lookout. The difference is in the desperation -- coming off like you want to show a girl a good time, not wrestle her to the ground and jam a ring on her finger. You’ve got quite a project ahead of you -- dating enough wack-jobs so you can readily identify them and either make them a lifelong hobby or get them out of your system. Then again, what part of more fun, sex, and freedom doesn’t work for you? (Much as it lacks the suspense of trying to break the speed record for going from prom to suburban disaffection.)
