Instead of a girlfriend, I became a comfort woman, a backbone, a shrink. But what truly ended things was how we always hit an intellectual wall whenever conversation moved beyond cars and punching people in the face. After we parted ways, I went from shrink to 3 am booty call, further evidence of how appreciative Dan was of my wisdom and encouragement.
Truthfully, I was a bit sorry to see Dan go. He boxed. He bellyached. He was my very own Mickey Rourke.
And now, in the days before Rourke might win an Oscar, I get a phone message from Dan. Since our split, he’s thought a lot about me, y’see. Of course, I should ignore the call. Instead I’m wondering why “bad” is so hard to shake.
Is it because we really believe we can save these guys? Or is that we’re still a bunch of cave women pining away for the beefy and strong? We want men who can defend us when necessary against spiders and cat-calls and this mean ol’ grizzly bear called life. But we also want someone who isn’t afraid to burrow down deep into the dirty muck of his own soul, to bring up the pain there and share it with that one special gal. In relationships, women want to feel together, to suffer and prevail as one. Shared feelings equal intimacy. If there’s anything bad boys seem to offer, it’s a well of steamy emotion.