That is a thought that ran across my mind repeatedly recently. This story begins with a sentence that will make every rational person’s eyes roll:
I met a guy.
He seemed great. He was a charming, well dressed, attractive professional. He was 14 years my senior which of course made him intriguing and sophisticated. I thought he just HAD to be different from all of the men my age. Guys in their late 20’s are either still running around trying to pretend they are still 19 fratting it up in the big city, or on the hunt for their trophy wife to one up all of their buddies and make them feel like they’ve ‘made it’… John on the other hand, he was of a certain age. He just had to be different. Being in his early forties he must REALLY get what life is about, right? He couldn’t possibly be as misogynistic or superficial as these other guys. He was a man. A real red blooded Midwestern American man.
We met at a work event, and went out for coffee. Coffee led to drinks later that week. Drinks led to dinner a few days later and dinner led me to his apartment on a lovely tree lined street on the east side of Lincoln Park. We enter the building, an adorable vintage place. It was not somewhere I would expect him to live but nice none the less. We walk up to his door and I am surprised at what I see. A tiny efficiency apartment. My eyes quickly scan the place and make the following observations:
- None of the furniture matches. We have a plaid chair next to a paisley sofa next to an office lamp sitting on a file cabinet.
- There is a massive king size bed in the corner. Sheets but no blanket, and one flat pillow.
- There is a large closet with no door that has 4 dress shirts and 2 pairs of slacks hanging in it.
- Paint is peeling off the walls and ceiling in large, noticeable strips.
- He has no family photos up, paintings, or personal artifacts of any kind.
My conclusion? He’s married!
No wait, I must be paranoid. Maybe he’s just frugal? He’s a tall guy, maybe he just likes to sprawl out in bed? Maybe he doesn’t have any photos up because he doesn’t have any family… or friends… or maybe he just moved in? That’s it. He must have just moved in and doesn’t have all of his things unpacked yet. But there aren’t any boxes around. They’re probably being delivered sometime soon. “So John, how long have you been here?” “Longer than I care to admit”. Damn. He opens his refrigerator door. There was a case of beer, a bottle of ketchup, and some sort of tupperware. “Would you like a beer?” he asked. “Yes, please”. Wow beer is all you have for me here? I needed something a bit stronger than that to get through the rest of that evening. Just to make sure I wasn’t being silly here, I had decided to conduct one more quick search. I went through the closet to get to the bathroom and closed the door. He had a pedestal sink and not much storage around. I opened the tiny medicine cabinet and found a razor, toothpaste, and a bottle of prescription medication with his name and a different address on the label. Totally married. Now I’ve been in this situation before, but I’ve always been able to weed these men out before a second date, or in some cases before even a first. The signs are usually pretty obvious:
- Wedding ring tan line.
- Two cell phones.
- Only wants to meet between 10am-1pm or 3pm-5:30pm and only during the week.
I had been duped. This is obviously John’s sex lair. All of a sudden I felt dirty. Several questions raced through my mind ‘How many women does he bring back here?’ ‘Does his wife know?’ ‘Does he share this place with a few other guys?’ ‘Do they schedule out their time here?’ ‘Have some sort of tie on the door knob signal?’ ‘Gross.’ I could hear my friends judging me already. Thinking I must be a total idiot to fall for this. Then a few seconds later, I no longer felt dirty.
Just angry.
I begin to realize the older I get the more I am approached by married men. Why? The idea starts to make me ill. As I exited the bathroom I saw him sitting on the sofa, he was patting the cushion next to him. I sat, with a million thoughts running through my mind. Do I slap his cheek and storm out? Do I pour this crappy Miller Lite on his lap and storm out? Do I launch myself into a tirade yelling about how all men are obviously scum, regardless of the age? No, no actually I don’t think I will… Instead I remained perfectly calm, held my can of beer and cross my legs, smiled and asked:
“so how is it that a good Midwestern Catholic boy like you hasn’t found yourself a lady…..”
This is going to be fun.
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