Hey everyone...Due to an unacceptably low quantity of e-mails regarding last week's column, you are being punished. As atonement for this sin, you must read a Maggie poem prior to enjoying my column this week.
 
Seriously, this is a poem I wrote a few years ago, and it is relevant to the premise of the article. Indulge me this time, and I promise to limit your exposure to iambic pentameter in the future.
 
stay classy...

Can There Still Be Romance?

I had sex last night, and the night before
Same guy both times, don’t think me a whore
I’ve known him a while and I’m okay with it
We don’t see others…fairly committed
He’s a nice looking guy, and he rings my bell
But give me a minute I have a story to tell.

Blame it on estrogen, but something is missin’
Maybe it’s just me, I’ll talk…you listen
So the sex is no problem, yeah…we covered that
He hits a home run most every “at bat”
And we talk a bit after and share a smoke
Look around the room, make sure nothing got broke.

Now it doesn’t end there, we do stuff together
Shopping or the beach…depends on the weather
He makes me laugh, and tells me I’m hot
I tell him he’s funny…really he’s not
But he’s fun to be with, and he makes me feel good,
Wanted , needed…and understood.

Now I’m no prize, this I know
Somewhat personable, maybe a little slow
But I clean up well…a pleasant disposition
No need to check my pulse if I ain’t bitchin’
Don’t need diamonds, not a material girl
And I know a trick or two that’ll make your hair curl.

So I’ll get to my point, and I’ll try to be clear
So you can maybe understand what’s going on down here
There are some things I do I don’t want him to see
He’s gotta realize I need time for just me
Maybe that’s selfish, and I should embrace
The nine out of ten things that work in this case.

When I’m around him I try to impress
The way that I speak, and the way that I dress
I chew with my mouth closed and eat with a fork
I serve food with fancy names and wine with a cork
I pretend this is normal…an everyday event
Sure it’s misleading, but that’s not my intent.

And that’s not all either…it doesn’t end there
I suppress my belches, and wear clean underwear
I leave the room when I fart, close the door when I pee
Some things you shouldn’t share, I think you’ll agree
Oh I keep my house cleaner and I vacuum the floor
My makeup is perfect, before I answer the door.

I say “thank you and excuse me” like a girl on a mission
And avoid ending sentences in a nasty preposition
I sit with my back straight and my legs together
Burn a Yankee candle so the house smells better
Than maybe it might if he wasn’t around
I let him hold the remote and control the sound.

I don’t scratch what itches, or pick my nose
I don’t crack my knuckles, or pop my toes
I just try to treat him with a little respect
I keep my legs shaved and my bowels in check
Maybe it’s silly, but I don’t want him to think
The girl of his dreams can make a room stink.

Before I make myself sound any worse
I promise to make this one the final verse
I gotta end this poem, I’ve gone on enough
About bad table manners, bodily functions and stuff
So what do you think? Do we have even a chance?
If I act like myself, can there still be romance?



Bait and Switch

When I first met David, he was managing a shoe store in the mall I frequent. I had been in the store a few times previously; however, I had never noticed David being present. I recall a few things about our initial meeting, and years later, I am uncertain if our relationship occurred because of my charm, or in spite of it.

David was wearing nice slacks and a white dress shirt with a tie. I remember noticing that he was tall, and that his hair was great, but a little too long. I had gone into the store because I needed a new pair of flip-flops, and of course, I turned it into a whole fucking thing; trying on dozens of styles before finally making a selection. I was impressed that David was attentive during this exercise in indecision.

After I left the store, I walked around the mall for another hour maybe, and as I made my way back towards the food court where I was gonna exit, I had to pass the shoe store. As I approached the store, I saw David standing outside the entrance. He greeted me as I passed; informing me that he had forgotten to ask me to join their rewards program when I had made my purchase earlier. I continued to walk, and did little to indicate I might have an interest in his offer.

“You get free shoes, after you buy ten pair,” David pleaded, now speaking to me after I had already passed him.

Okay so, a nice looking guy who is dressed in nice clothes, is going out of his way to engage me in what seems to be a superfluous conversation, when I have already purchased what he is selling.

Did I turn my milkshake “on” before I left home today? Hmmm…

I stopped and turned to face him now, “Free shoes?” I asked, to clarify.

“Yeah, after you buy ten pair” David explained.

At this point, I have lived in Florida for about nine months; I have dated one guy who seemed totally opposed to physical interaction with me, and I have masturbated more than a morning drive time radio producer. Yeah, when the guy at Publix offers to carry my bags out for me, I am hoping he has an ulterior motive. So, when a nice looking guy goes out of his way to interact with me, and offer me free shoes…I am interested.

I turned and walked towards David.

“I just need to give you a card, and I will go ahead and add the purchase you made earlier, and then every time you come in I will punch out another number, and after ten…you get a free pair” David pimped, as I sized him up for dating material.

“You had me at free shoes” I surrendered, hoping that he indeed had something else up his sleeve, besides a Fossil (uhh dude, really) watch.

And this is how it began for David and me. This happened on a Tuesday, and he asked me out for the following Saturday. I accepted, and the rest is history.

My point in all this is, the David who I originally responded to in the mall, and the guy who leaves his socks in the floor, and farts in bed, are very different guys.

David is not the only guilty party in this misrepresentation of manners and domestic decorum. I was just as bad…and maybe we all are.

The poem above this article is one I wrote during the time I was dating David. It goes on about how I presented myself as something I was really not. The bait and switch game is one that retailers exploit regularly, to get you to buy what they really want to sell you, and it seems it is also popular in the relationship ruse’s that we all play.

Last week marked the anniversary of that day in the mall. I know it is not like a wedding anniversary or anything; however, it is something that I remembered. David spent the day playing golf, and I spent most of my day painting the pantry area of our kitchen. When he got home, I was covered in paint… sweaty, and unclean. David trotted in wearing his worst pair of cargo shorts, a West Coast Choppers T-shirt, and a Titleist cap…backwards of course. When I quizzed him about the date having any significance, he was stumped.

After enlightenment, he attacked me in the kitchen, tearing off my jeans and thong and sucking my clitoris until I exploded in his face. I sucked his dick, and then begged him to fuck my ass, all this happened on the kitchen floor. I could see our reflection in the refrigerator as he pounded away at my ass…a scruffy, unkempt guy with hair that is still too long, and a backwards baseball cap is banging away at a me, while I have paint on my clothes, face, and hair; and I have not bathed since the previous morning.

This would never have happened when we were dating. Both of us were too busy being what we wanted the other to see, instead of just being comfortable and confident with what we really are.

When David finished (on my butt and back…dig me, bitches), I remained face down on the cold tile of the kitchen floor for a few minutes. He got a beer from the refrigerator, stepped over me, and went into the living room. As I looked about our kitchen from an angle I had not enjoyed previously, I thought about how far we had come as a couple, and wondered if “we” would even have happened if we had both been ourselves from the beginning.

I wondered if he would prefer me to be the girl he originally was attracted to in the mall that day.

And I wondered if the paint I picked out for the pantry was gonna dry the same God-awful color as it was now.