In the first place, I cancelled The Summer Boyfriend Reality Show this year on due to lack of interest - namely mine. I've finally had an opportunity to discover myself outside of any relationship. Just me. Not me as a daughter, wife, girl friend, mother, sister. It's kind of cool even with the anxiety around financial realities. I've discovered all sorts of things, and it wouldn't have happened if I'd have been worrying about pleasing somebody besides myself.
In the second place, married men are automatically disqualified as potential boyfriends. Call me Old Fashioned, but even if I thought Mr. Polo hung the moon, I have issues with causing problems for another woman. I wouldn't want my husband fucking around with some floosie behind my back. Granted, some people have marriages that accommodate that kind of thing. But when you're out to lunch with a fellow and his cell phone rings, then he looks at the number, shushes you and walks outside with his phone - that's not an open marriage. That's bullshit.
Not only that, but even though Mr. Polo's family is in the fine jewelry business, he never produced anything sparkly. When a married man who can get jewelry for under cost tries to seduce a younger woman and doesn't attempt to turn her head with a pair of earrings or a bracelet - that's double bullshit. Trinkets go with the mistress territory. Hell, Granny the Ho's last boyfriend bought her a lovely house in Laguna Beach, California. Of course, she'd been keeping him company for a while by the time he bought her that house, but married men have got to start somewhere. A gold bracelet with a few precious stones seemed like a reasonable place to me. The thought never entered the head of this jeweler's son.
*Note* Buzz Kill was quite generous in the jewelry department, and I have several nice pieces of my own. Some of them museum quality from exotic locations. My head wouldn't have been turned a centimeter, but Mr. Polo still should have tried.
How did I meet this man? On line, of course. It was one of those situations where the truth came out over time. All this happened a while back - before I ever even met HCW. Once I knew the whole story about his age, his marriage, and the love of his life who lives in France, I respectfully declined his invitations. But he was persistent and persuasive, and in a weak moment, I acquiesced to "a friendly lunch." Other lunches followed, and they were always very lovely, friendly lunches. My favorite was at the MoMA restaurant, but the bottle of wine we shared at 'Cesca was lovely too.
I was intrigued with Mr. Polo's personal history because he was "second generation," an adult child of Holocaust Survivors. His parents met and married in a Displaced Persons camp. As it happened, Double Wide was Second Generation too, although he was born in this country. He liked to say he was a little "fuck you" to Hitler. I met Double Wide (Stonerdate 11.15.08) on line as well - through an adult dating site while I was still married - which is why I'm not judgmental about HCW's x-rated google trail. HCW's experience reads like a sausage fest, but mine was more like Ladies Night in the strangest bar in town (Sorry, Mom, but it seemed like a good idea at the time).
If you ever need a relationship where emotional intimacy is not on the agenda, I recommend Adult Children of Holocaust Survivors. As it happens, my therapist treated Holocaust Survivors for years as part of a reparations program from the German government and still runs group therapy sessions for the adult children. Interesting crew, but they can have issues with relationships.
As it happened, Mr. Polo was a card carrying Narcissist - with an official diagnosis from a psychiatrist and everything. So when I started thinking that HCW might be a narcissist, I turned to Mr. Polo for information, advice and support. Mistake, but I was heartbroken and not thinking clearly.
Now that Mr. Polo has made himself thoroughly disagreeable, I blocked his emails, blocked him from the blog, won't answer his calls and wrote him a note to tell him so. That's what you do when you want somebody to leave you alone.
Now I'm off with some friends to Cowgirl Hall of Fame - which I believe is a known lesbian hangout - and I know from experience the margs are excellent even if the TexMex is decidedly Yankee. The best news is that my friends have declared it my birthday again and I'm not driving.