An Ounce of Pretension

Have you ever heard the saying "an ounce of pretension is worth a pound of manure?" Not only is it humorous, it's also true to a fault. What exactly is it about money that makes people think they are above others on the hierarchy ladder of life. It might be hard to believe but at one point I dated a woman whose nose was so high in the air, had it sprinkled she would have drowned. But I should stipulate for the sake of my reputation I only went out with her once. After she ordered a hot chocolate and then whipped an instant read thermometer out of her purse to ensure it was a perfect 65 degrees Celsius, I decided quickly to bow out. I have many questions about this. Did she not think this wasn't going to be highbrow enough to put me off? Was she trying purposely to put me off or just test the limits of how much BS I'd put up with? Or was this just the way she really was? I would find the last scenario the hardest to swallow. I have to say however that evoking the metric system is the part I found most offensive. By the way, I pride myself on dating women (usually) who are well rounded of whom I eventually married. And when I use the term well-rounded, I mean she should know multiple ways to ring a chicken's neck. I wanted a woman who thrilled with simplistic treasures like kisses in the rain and loves to be barefoot, I joyfully married both in one delightful package.

This woman on the date was so uninteresting I remember very little about our hour-long conversation except for the fact that I couldn't get past the fact that her eyebrows were uneven. Usually, I am never that critical, but I couldn't get past the fact that she was so unsufferable and in addition she was one of those chichas who had shaved her eyebrows off and then drawn them back in with what looked a like a Sharpie. At some point I had decided I had suffered enough at the hands of her useless chit chat and excused myself to the men's room in order to phone a friend. Many people think that move was invented by the game show "WHO WANTS TO BE A MILLIONAIRE" but that is untrue, it was invented by men who are in trouble. I placed a phone call to one of my best pals, and he agreed to let five minutes lapse and then call me with an "emergency." I should also stipulate that at this point he owed me a favor. It wasn't more than a week before that (at his request) I picked him up around 2AM in a dicey part of Tulsa where he was doing questionable things with dicey company and was essentially doing a dance with evil who we dare not speak its name. Sometimes even as friends we are better off not knowing everything. Evidently someone had slashed all four of his tires and had poured a five-pound bag of sugar in his gas tank. In other words, he was stranded like Chuck Nolan on a sandy beach with nothing but a volleyball to converse with. These travesties committed against him didn't sound random to me; they sounded personal. But that's a whole other blog entry.

I have mentioned often in my writing that adding testosterone to ANY situation just makes matters worse. I stand by that conviction fully. I can look back on nearly all of the poor choices I have made in my life and successfully blame most of them on hormones. The only thing testosterone is good for is procreation, which come to think of it maybe that is the only reason women need us to begin with. That and the fact that if my kind didn't exist there would be essentially no crime.

Now back to the date. What do women do if a date goes sideways for them? Ladies, what do you do if a man begins to pick a caraway seed out of his molars at the table with an American Express card? Do you just thank him for the Maine lobster and just bid him goodnight? This woman's behavior was so deplorable that my first thought was if this is her best behavior I'd hate to see her worst. Men often date badly simply because they have a hard time thinking past the end of their next orgasmic episode. When women date, they tend to think more practically about finding out whether or not at the end of a bad day would he come home and kick the dog. So, I reluctantly paid the check and left skid marks in the parking lot. I can't even be sure if I properly said goodbye, but at this point that matters very little. I have no idea whether or not I will ever see the woman again, I'll just say I hope not.

A man's best reward for dating badly is to marry well, if he is blessed. AND I HAVE! This is to say he has taken time to learn from his mistakes. I mentioned not so long ago to the boys at the shop what a delight my wife is. My supervisor Eddie said, "if she really is that chill you better double check, she might just be a dude." I'll say this with great certainty, I have been married to the woman for better than 20 years and if there were anything off about her plumbing at this point, surely, I'd know by now. Wouldn't I?

Speaking of being pretentious, when was the last time you stepped into a Starbucks? They are so cold, cooperate, and supercilious they cannot even use the same size cups as their restaurant counter parts. And let's be honest, they ARE just another fast-food joint, the only difference is they pipe Norah Jones into their restaurants instead of Bruce Springsteen. You are essentially experiencing the same thing, just at a different cost. You know from which I speak about cup sizes right, small, medium, and large? Their sizes are as follows: Demi (3oz), Short (8oz), Tall (12oz), Grande (20oz), and for those that need a good colon cleaning there is the Trenta which is (31oz). Are they trying deliberately to confuse us? If the strange cup sizes are not to put you off the cliental might be. Evidently the days of ordering coffee two ways are long gone; black or with cream. One day my curiosity got the best of me, and I stepped inside to see what all the hubbub was about, I should have stayed in my F-150. The man in front of me had a professional manicure, a head full of mouse, and was wearing an Armeni suit. This was his order (and I know it's right because I put it to memory); Venti caramel crunch cappuccino with two extra pumps of dark caramel sauce, bananas, whipped cream, extra ice, blended with honey, caramel drizzle, and dusted with cinnamon. Now, to be fair, that really isn't a coffee; it sounds more like a concoction that would put a diabetic into a coma and make your pupils dilate like some kind of illicit street drug. The only thing it was missing was jigger of insulin and possibly a head stone. Let's just say (with tongue planted firmly in cheek) it just wasn't my cup of tea.