The Angry Man

Memorial Day. I don’t attend any BBQs. I spend the day at Kaldi writing my bleeding heart out. The next day, I board a red eye to New York where the man I am seeing is waiting for me.

What I’ve not told you is that while spending the past six months lamenting the C/R/M, I’ve been involved with someone sporadically for over 18 months. I call him “The Angry Man”. Although he definitely has metrosexual qualities, it’s harder to categorize them. He does a little magic, watches a lot of basketball, likes good sheets and he never steers you wrong when it comes to eating out.

 In fact, the next morning, after the unnamed hyphenated man had left me to motor on to his ex-fiancée’s house (I’ve only just figured this out, sometimes I can be so obtuse), he was the one I called, having bawled until I gave myself a migraine and then threw up. With a jar of dill pickles in hand from Langer’s Deli, he took one look at my puffed eyes and said: “He dumped you, didn’t he?” which prompted the waterworks all over again. I probably shouldn’t have rang him, but I’m glad I did. He’s the only man who has ever been there for me 100%.

Last summer, prompted by one of the girls in the New York office, I called him and told him that he was a pill and pissed me off most of the time, but that despite that, he made me laugh, he challenged me, and I loved him. We broke up about two months later, but I have no regrets about telling him I loved him. I know the golden rule is to let the man tell you first, but that was just the way I felt. I still feel that way.

In fact, when I left his apartment this morning after a rather loud squabble in which he once again announced something completely preposterous, I yelled “I’m going home and I’m going to WRITE about YOU in my BLOG!” Taken aback, he replied, “You have a blog?” I didn’t respond. He has not been on my emails alerts where my latest adventures lurk. He bores easily, and quite frankly, I didn’t want to hear the silence on the other end of the phone when asking his opinion. For someone who claims not to read, he sure has a lot of literary opinions.

After clearly defining the fact that he is not a rebound relationship, I decided to embark on more serious byways. Inspired by LeeAnn’s elopement in Oahu last month, I called The Angry Man and frankly announced that we should have a baby together. Life is short, right? I know he wants to be a father, he’s great with kids and I’d love the experience while I’m still under 40. I’m not sure about the full time mother stuff and the insane schedules I watch my friends keep and I told him that. What I said was “We don’t have to get married, we can have an alternative lifestyle and you can be the primary care giver.” I thought it sounded quite reasonable in this chaotic world. He started in on custody arrangements and stipulations about leaving the country. I was laughing, this was perfect, so him. Instead of getting caught up in the moment, or maybe my chaos, he launching into all sorts of reasonable questions. When I pointed this out, he yelled, “What do you mean you don’t want to marry me? If we’re having a baby, we’re getting married!” and hung up the phone.

I’m not pregnant, and we’ve not talked about getting married, but I have been invited to the coveted family retreat on Martha’s Vineyard which I will ferry off to in a couple of weeks.

Despite his assertion about not reading, he pours through two newspapers a day and will clip articles he thinks I’d be interested in. He’s incredibly bright, and during our first spat, said, “You’re used to being the smarter one in the relationship, right? Get over it!” later assuaging my ego with “You’re almost as smart as me”.

He’s my biggest critic, but constructive and frighteningly accurate. He’s also my biggest fan and wants the best for me. He sees me clearly. He thinks I'm sexy and should wear bikinis and jeans that show off my butt. He’s funny and he loves to go to theater, museums, or drive up the coast, stopping to buy strawberries. He can usually get me to try things I’ve never done, although I am steadfastly refusing to join him at the nude beach in the Vineyard and anything related to Dim Sum. I think I’m going to lose the Dim Sum fight soon. He can work a room, but would prefer not to. He is an ardent Red Sox fan, Beatles fan and connoisseur of the best restaurants. During one of our earlier dates, we were at a loss of words, staring around the restaurant trying to feel each other out, when he pulled out a red scarf from nowhere and started a mini-magic routine. It was then I knew he was special.

For those of you “Thirty-Something” fans, you may remember the episode where Gary is describing his new girlfriend, Susannah, to Michael. Michael wants to meet her, and we, the audience, are secretly hoping he gets back together with Melissa. Gary smiles and says, “You’re not going to like her”. I think this is the first impression that The Angry Man gives. He’s churlish and doesn’t suffer fools lightly. He also seems rather fond of the word “battle”, I’m not sure why. We have many similarities and appreciate our differences. He’d never be caught doing yard work or manning the grill, while I get great pleasure out of mowing the lawn. He also secretly loves that I call his favorite basketball team “The Fakers” and has a beautiful singing voice.

Last weekend, I picked up Laura Schlessinger’s book, “What Women Do to Mess Up Their Lives” (relax, it was at a friend’s house) and spontaneously turned the page to a bold paragraph heading “Adult Relationships Are For Adults”. Could this be an adult relationship? Readers, I’m dying to know.