This is not an angsty, mooning post about a girl. This is merely a sighing acceptance of the fact that I’ll never be able to shake being some moms’ ‘nice boy from school’ and many, many prepubescent girls’ crush.
I’m nonthreatening.
I’m a big guy with big shoulders, a barrel chest, broad hips and a bit of a beer gut. That is, I look like a rugger, or a Greco-Roman wrestling heavyweight, which is good, because I am in fact the latter. (Imagine a trimmer Rulon Gardner, or a less bulky Bruce Baumgartner, for the figure.) I’m also pretty hairy, have soft brown hair that I wear sort of like oldschool Noah Wyle’s (except that it curls in the front, which makes it even more nonthreatening), and keep a jawline beard that’s maybe a half- to a quarter-inch wide. I have light blue eyes and generally keep a cold, logical manner that’s very easy to break me out of and into a friendly, collegial attitude, giving people the impression that I’m quick to warm up to others.
As a result, I spent a great deal of my life being attractive to no one between the ages of 13 and 30, and everyone outside. Sure, I date. I’ve had girlfriends, and I’ve had friends who turned briefly into girlfriends and then back.
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I’d go to wrestling tournaments and pray that my teammates didn’t bring their little sisters. The moms I could deal with because they just found me warm and friendly, but the 10- and 11-year-old girls lack any sense of propriety and I’d spend times in between reffing matches, or when I’d be sitting at the table to keep score, having eyelashes ineptly batted at me. I didn’t mind that they were always willing to run and get me coffee (yeah, I’m EVIL~!), except that they’d be back.
And then there were the ex-girlfriends’ mothers. Oh, my. I’m not sure if mothers generally get flat-out pissed at their daughters for breaking up with guys, but I’ve seen more than my share of it.
So, long story short, I now have an ex-girlfriend who I’m not feeling too badly about, except that her mom is siding with me unabashedly. I love the woman, but it’s bringing up bad memories, and frankly I can only be told I resemble her husband at my age so many times before I get weirded out.
I should start a support group: The Mothers Of Tom’s Ex-Girlfriends. MOTEG meetings would deal weekly with issues like, “But Sweetie, Last Month He…: How to press the roses she no longer appreciates” or “Tom’s Income Potential Is Not As Great As It Sounds.”
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m being chased by my eight-year-old girlfriend Elizabeth, who saw me outside shoveling snow and wants a hug before I go back to Manhattan.
She also wants to come in and watch CNN and drink martinis, as that’s how I once described my fictitious job to her.
I wonder where her parents are.