2 Questions Every Girl is Asking Herself

Chapter 51

One day, as I was eagerly anticipating replies and invitations for interviews, a message popped into my inbox. 

It went like this:

"How about sincere, good-looking and TALL?"

My first reaction was, huh? Who's this shameless dude?

Ever since my first consulting project in Calgary, I'd signed up for an online dating website. Which over the years has yielded a consistent crop of bad apples, not to mention what feels like an enormous waste of time. So I really wasn't sure how excited I felt about this one. Still, I clicked on his profile.

His name is Matt. From the photos, he looks Asian. With long bangs swept to the side (Korean-drama style). He has small eyes, big nose and thick lips that look like two slices of tuna. When he smiles, his eyes curve into two little crescents that make you want to smile with him. He's also very humble, and thinks he looks like a Korean Superstar.

Reading on, I find out even more vital stats:

Height: 6'3"
Profession: Gluteus Maximus Model

Gluteus Maximus.... I had to Google that one. (If you must know, he's a butt model.)

Needless to say, I hit reply.

We kept up a friendly banter for about two weeks before he finally asked me out on a date. In that time, I found myself checking the phone even when it wasn't flashing new message notifications. I looked forward to his calls at the end of the days. When my mother went on vacation in Asia, he sent me extremely detailed instructions on where to find the best xiao long bao in Shanghai.

We had our first date at an ice-rink. I wore a white cardigan, knit with thick yarn, that reached the middle of my thigh, and the highest shoes I could find, so I wouldn't look so short next to him. I arrived early, nervous I'd be late. The complex had several different rinks, I circled the premises looking for him. When I toured all the way back to the entrance, a guy in a red tuque turned up from the side of the staircase. As soon as our eyes met, his face lit up like a 200watt lightbulb, I felt like sunshine itself had flooded the room. Even my feet felt warm.

I stuck out a hand for him to shake, but he just spread out his hoodied arms and gave me a hug. We walked back to the rink, and rented a pair of skates for me. He'd brought his own.

"I haven't skated in ages, so I'm super rusty," I warned him, as I sat down on the crowded bench and tugged on the skates, "Not that I was any good to begin with."

He knelt by the bench, and tightened the skates for me. But when I wobbled onto the ice, he didn't offer to hold my hand. Instead, he just held out the crook of his arm and nodded. So I hung onto his arm for support.

So in this linked arm-in-arm way, we glided round and round. I liked him. This self-proclaimed "Korean Superstar/butt model", who's actually Chinese, who likes "a girl who can cook," and who'll "do the dishes." He's genuine, humorous, asked questions. He's a year older than me, was a champion hockey player, but is now working on helicopters. He's not the typical intellectual I'm used to dating, but seems to have a natural ease with himself and his surroundings, gliding through life on a surfboard. Just effortlessly charming. I liked that he'd stayed faithfully committed to a relationship for 7 years, ever since he was 17. He seemed like a light-hearted guy with deep feelings coursing through his veins. And a prime candidate for player-hood, yet he doesn't play. Which gives him an added aura of safety. Even more alluring to girls...

In a lot of romance novels, you often see the tall, rich, handsome male protagonist acting like a jerk, but deep down he's just a wounded soul waiting for the female lead to love and nurture into openness. Women love this because it gives us a sense of power and purpose. We must conquer/rescue the bad boy into goodness. And also because writers need conflicted characters to make a good story. In real life though, I find, if the guy looks like a jerk, talks like a jerk, acts like a jerk, then he's a jerk. End of story. An attempt at conversion would be like living the onion life, peel and cry. Regardless if he's molten awesomeness or just more onion inside, for the sake of my own emotional well-being, it's just not worth it to find out. From those brave souls who have tried, as Lena Durham writes, the experience leaves her feeling "like shit." I don't want to feel like shit. There are plenty of good boys who act and behave like good boys that deserve my time and attention now. Maybe I'll get to the bad boys when I'm seventy. No, here's a better idea, how about I never get to them.