I wish this was my problem but it’s not. It’s someone I know. He actually asked me to do this blogpost, to write something about him because he reads my blog faithfully on the train as he commutes to SF for work. This is a departure from the usual bestbathroombooks hijinks, but WTF. He didn’t know I would be writing on this subject. He didn’t know that I would be going into detail about his life and how his life interacts with mine. He does know, now that he’s reading it, that I think he has a problem.
He’s too good looking.
I have known this kid since he was a drooling little toddler sh*tting his pants and eating his own snot. I’m good friends with his mother and father and sister. He and my son are close enough in age that once they were grown we’d go on trips together. We took a trip to Breckenridge CO and skied on hangovers until his father broke his leg. (I wrote an article about this experience for the SRV Times). We partied in Mexico until it ended in glass and blood and me holding a dish towel over a gash in the kid’s leg until the medics could sew him up.
He’s been to my house and I’ve been to his a thousand times, and I we’ve drained several hundred kegs and laughed about things that weren’t funny because we were hammered enough to think they were.
In other words, we’ve been through a lot of life together.
But I worry about him. The reason:
He gets laid way too much. I think this may have something to do with his unfortunate symmetry and bone structure.
At 27 year old, he’s about six two, a hundred and eighty pounds of Adonis. He’s got dark hair, tanning skin and bright blue eyes. He has a casual, sporty sense of style, no tats, and hair that forms some kind of a mini-mohawk with a symmetrical dove tail at the back of his neck. His grooming and appearance are typically casual and clean, but he can hold his whiskey and your attention when he’s talking to you. He’s an excellent golfer. He’s a phenomenal snowboarder. He works in an office that’s probably 60% gay. He’s just slightly the rugged side of a pretty boy, and his teeth are white when he parts his lips for an easy smile. As his father’s friend, we will occasionally discuss his latest female friend parade. At my age of 56, it’s hard not to notice these women—even when my own beautiful wife is sitting next to me at the dining table.
At Saturday night’s dinner, his latest friend arrived from her job in finance–a brunette beauty in her new Mercedes wearing six inch patent leather heels and business attire. After being introduced, we shared dinner and wine, and I began to marvel at the complexity of his conundrum. The conundrum is this:
This has happened to me at least ten times. And every time I meet her, the woman is stunning, often a few years older (he tends to date older women), and they never seem to be around for very long. The last woman I met—this one was a blond equestrian—he met on the train to San Francisco. He’d noticed her and decided to approach her and ask her for her number. The next week we were all sharing dinner together. Another charming, beautiful woman I haven’t seen since.
When I get together with his father—and it’s often—I try to elicit a resolution to the problem I see: The kid is eating a gourmet meal every night, but, just like a Stephen King novel or some Biggest Loser fantasy, he never seems to gain weight. And by weight, I mean have a relationship that sticks to his ribs beyond the benefits stage.
At one point, he was dating three women at once. The physical and emotional stamina involved in spinning this many plates alone is admirable, and yet, when I spoke with his father about all of them, he said something I found hard to believe:
His son wasn’t interested in any of them, because they all slept with him too easily.
This reminded me of a conversation I’d had with my son, when one of his buddies–we’ll call him T–broke up with his high school girlfriend.
Me: Why did T break up with M?
My Son: He said he was getting tired of her blowjobs.
I wanted to record that to play back to T in thirty years.
So I continue to watch this plate-spinning, wondering if the plates will ever stop coming, and whether the ease of non-stop gourmet meals will make choosing one meal to enjoy the rest of his life impossible. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have this problem. I can’t imagine why it’s so difficult to choose a woman who might make a good partner. I’m wondering if the process of sampling becomes so enjoyable that the kid will never sit down to a real dinner at all.
I don’t have this problem, but I know someone who does.
Since I know you’re reading this on the train, I just gotta ask you Kid:
What you gonna do?