Since we are at the end of the year, I thought we should have some fun. Here is a chapter from my latest memoir, Hearts on the Line.
Client interviews are sacred. After marching out of Gary’s office, I have no prospective client interview set up. Claiming to have one is often my way of saying to Gary: leave me alone, or I can’t think of affirmations fast enough to stop me from throwing things at you.
Incoming email chimes, and it’s from my publisher, asking about the three chapters. I write back that they’re done, but I want to go over them one more time on my lunch break and will send them then.
So, back to the boob chase. I face the emails from clients, and the first one is from a man in his mid-sixties, a typical Mr. SoFBRG. (short, fat, bald, rich guy)
I took Amy out for dinner. It was pleasant enough but let me say that it became quite comical. I’ve never met a more self- absorbed person. Not once did Amy ask one question about my life or me. It was Amy’s favorite music, Amy’s taste in movies, the classes Amy skipped in junior college...and silly stuff like that. Thus, I would like to meet someone a bit more mature in her outlook. Thanks.
Oh, you would, would you? Dear Mr. SoFBRG,
How shocking that a young woman almost thirty years your junior would not be as mature as you’d like. Since she’d be taking advantage of your AARP discounts on future dates with you, I personally think that she should be giving you her utmost attention and admiration. But, no worries. I’ll fix you right up with a GDGD, more mature by about five years, who has learned to suck up to wealthy men by acting like she gives a royal shit about the different golf courses you’ve played on.
Of course, even though honest and realistic, I don’t actually send this email. I expect ridiculous complaints from clients. It’s just that my inner demon is trying to break out of her cage again, and writing what I’d really like to say sort of pacifies her, much like a bag of stale marshmallows might keep a gorilla busy long enough for you to get your ass out of the enclosure.
Thank-you for the detailed feedback. Yes, these popular
and gorgeous young women can be a bit self-centered. I will work on another match ASAP. Please do let me know if you would consider being a bit more flexible on the age range. If you would be open to dating some of our beautiful women who are in their forties and fifties, you just might find their personalities to be more mature as well.
Like, duh. Yeesh.
Next: Here’s an email from my all-time favorite male client, Nate. A psychic told him someone whose name began with an M would help him find a soul mate, and shortly after that, he applied for membership. We’ve had such a fun relationship. I introduced him to a terrific woman and they were exclusive for over two years, but it recently fell through. I just matched him with a bubbly brunette named Marina and have my fingers crossed.
Here is my feedback on Marina; I apologize for this email in advance.
On a balmy evening, she wore a bulky sweater and a shawl or scarf over it. I could tell though that she wasn’t slim and was trying to hide her body.
It was a strange date. She went on and on about how fun and interesting I was, and then told me that she met someone 3 weeks ago that she really likes. With her eyes all fluttery, she said seeing him at her door is like Christmas morning. She told me that she felt no chemistry with me. And then after dinner, she wanted to go to the bar and have a drink. I didn’t really want to, but I guess I had nothing better to do at the time. I paid for after-dinner drinks, and she wanted my opinion about
this guy and her sexual intentions with him. I really don’t understand why she went on the date.
Oh, noooo. I need to stress again to these women that they should go out with a man only if they’re open to a new relationship. As for Marina, it sounds like she’s put on weight since I saw her last spring. Nate’s not overly picky, so if he mentioned it, there’s a problem. I’m tossing Marina’s file, and I’ll sneak Nate an extra referral. Don’t tell Gary.
I work on matches for a while. Connie is in the hall and holds up her coffee cup, a question: do I want some? I raise mine and she comes in and gets it.
Alana buzzes me to say that Bob Carpenter is calling and wants to talk to me. A shudder passes through me. I so wish we could be done with this guy, but he just keeps renewing. Deep breath. Might as well get this over with.
I pick up the phone, and he greets me in a tenor voice that doesn’t match a man with a six-foot plus frame. He’s nearly sixty with a boyish face that might make him appear as young as he thinks he looks in his snazzy wardrobe—if it weren’t for all his sun wrinkles. He owns a ten acre spread out in Hemet and is sure this entitles him to date women under thirty-five. His top priority is cup size and whether or not she loves Jesus. In that order.
Now, he’s calling to complain that the airhead bimbo who agreed to date him isn’t returning his calls.
“Marla, I took her shopping and spent almost three hundred dollars,” he says.
I can easily picture him whining to his mommy as a boy...or perhaps still. “Where did