Dating Daddy


I was meeting a friend for dinner at a swanky Beverly Hills restaurant. I was on time but my friend, new to the area, was lost. I cannot stand to wait alone for anyone in a restaurant or bar. Although, I’m a very friendly person and quite confident in most areas, I feel incredibly uncomfortable and vulnerable in that environment. (I think it dates back to immediately after my separation when a girlfriend invited me to meet her at a bar. I got there and she was nowhere in sight. I had no idea at the time that I was in a well-known pick up bar on a Saturday night. Many men assumed I was there for the sole reason of hooking up. Apparently everyone in Los Angeles knew this but me and that’s precisely why they went there. It may have been my worst night as a newly single woman).

I was beyond thrilled that evening when the hostess allowed me to sit down at a table as long as I ordered something. I sat at the table and promptly ordered an 18 dollar glass of Sancerre and the bruschetta appetizer. I figured I could nibble slowly until my friend arrived. As soon as I sat down the older gentleman at the table to my right smiled. As time went by, and my date still had nor arrived, I am sure he and his buddy thought I was stood up. The gentlemen invited me to share their appetizers and I in turn invited them to try mine. Nearly an hour later my date arrived. It became dinner for four. By desert we all knew each other and had exchanged business cards.

A few days later one of the men called and invited me to an art opening. At dinner that evening he mentioned he had to attend a business meeting at a hotel property that he was a partner in. He would be flying down on the company jet. I’m not sure exactly how it happened but I was invited to come along. I said I would love to go as long as I could bring my friend (the same friend he had met at dinner). I called my friend from the bathroom at Mr. Chow and told him to get packing!

To make a long story short we took the helicopter to the private airport to the private plane. Before I knew it we were landing on a beautiful tropical island. It was paradise until I learned I was bunking with the old man while my friend was in his own suite down at the other end of the property. I guessed we were dating not just pals…


The first night we were exhausted from getting up so early. We crashed into the sumptuous king size bed without incident. Al was off to a meeting the next morning while my friend and I were given comp cards to purchase anything we wanted at the shop. The rest of the day was spent relaxing by our private pool with our own staff serving fresh seafood and colorful cocktails. I was trying to get used to the fact that I was dating an older man. Was there anything wrong with it? Was it weird? Maybe it would be a good thing. He certainly was showing me a nice side of life and was extremely generous to my friend and I

images-4That night we want to a local place for dinner.  I looked my date over from head to toe. He was attractive for his age, well-groomed, and was dressed in well fit white linen trousers and the palest of green linen shirt with a cashmere cable knit sweater the same exact color slung over his shoulders. After a festive dinner the three of us we went to see the straw market. This was al’s idea, he thought it would be fun and wanted us to see the other side of the island. We shopped for souvenirs at one stand. The proprietor was lovely and oozed local charm. She insisted that she take our photos in front of a fountain. “Here love, stand next to Daddy and your brother over her on the other side of Daddy.” I almost sit out my teeth. There it was! That’s’ what the world would think of me dating this older gentleman.

On the way home in the chauffeur driven car “Daddy” fell asleep. I knew it was over before it began. images-6

The World is Flat (and so am I)

shutterstock_138076832-300x282This great piece is from my friend’s new blog. If you’re a woman with breasts, I’m sure you can relate. I know I can! If you’re a man, maybe you’ll learn something.

I found out that I was flat-chested in 6th grade. I am both naive and a slow learner; however, when I looked at the other girls changing out of their gym clothes, I couldn’t miss the obvious: I was the only girl wearing a tee-shirt and Grandma pull-up cotton panties. All the other girls in my class were strutting around the locker room in their matching bras and panties.

Apparently, I missed the memo.

After school, I had a clear mission in which I would get a training bra, too. But first, I had to go through my mother. See, my mother was old-school, tough as nails, parochial-schooled Shanty-Irish-Catholic ruler with an iron fist and a biting tongue. No poetic blarney ever came from her; she fancied herself a straight-shooter and you either withstood her heat-seeking missiles or you hid.

I opted to approach her after dinner, after the eight of us sat down to a home-cooked meal, after the dishes had been cleared, the leftovers lovingly stored away to later metamorph into something vaguely recognizable in a day or two, and the pots and pans were scoured, dried, and put away.

The next phase of the evening was homework, but I had been honing my speech (my plea, actually) since school let out and during the 3:00-4:00 soap opera, “The Guiding Light.” My plan was simple and reckless: just get my mother alone and ask her to bring me to The Mart for…mumble…mumble…, which is where I lost my nerve based on her lack of accessibility, interest, or investment in my crisis du jour.

But, I prevailed and blurted that I, “…desperately needed a bra…no one in my gym class was wearing tee-shirts any more…and I needed her to buy me a bra that very night.”Teenform-Training-collectible-5811--711x1024

She stepped back to gain perspective. Looked at me with a critical and jaundiced eye, and proclaimed, “but you don’t need one: you haven’t developed yet.” I admit I’ve suppressed what came next. I know there was no blood. There may have been teeth-gnashing, rending clothes, pulling hanks of hair out and such histrionics, but what I do remember is that we did get in the car with the intention of getting me an unnecessary training bra (her words, not mine).

So. The Mart: old school department store. Some fossils had been there since the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Grease, carbon-dated hot dogs, and rancid popcorn butter added to its dubious allure. But to me, it was Nirvana, I was going to get a bra, wear it the next day, and casually and pointedly change in full view of the other girls so I could show them I belonged to the pack.

Couldn’t have written the script for what happened next, though.

The Mart was a small-town department store in which there was no clear division (walls) between departments. Ladies lingerie may as well been next to fishing tackle, which may as well been next to the snack bar. It was a bargain-basement store and what you see was what you got.

Well, the whole store got an eye full when my mother stopped rummaging through bras, mumbling, “28A, 28A, 28A.” She handed me this stripped-down, sexless, utilitarian scrap of fabric and told me to try it on. I asked her where the dressing rooms were. She shot me a funny look and said, “No, just try it on over your clothes.”59b327d3146ac972cbc1b942931e4544

That phrase still reverberates nearly 40 years later.

The only way I was going to score this bra was to stand in the middle of the store, in the center of the aisle, next to machinists and housewives, and sniggering teens and try on that Goddamned bra.

And I did it. And I’m not proud of it. Sweat was pouring down my back from the humiliation. I must have smelled like a locker room, but I did it: pride be damned. I took off my jacket, unhooked the bra, wrapped it around my chest, and adjusted it while I stood rooted to the spot while my mother adjusted my breasts in full view of the other shoppers. And…lest we forget, she was saying, “…well, you know you don’t really need one….”

She did buy it for me but by that time, it could have been a hair shirt. I wore my new bra to school the next day to gym class. Made sure I was noticed while changing, but no one noticed it. No acknowledgement. No comments. Things were no different than the day before: other than my mother was $6.00 poorer and I was 100% more bitter and cynical.

That’s how I learned I was flat-chested and would remain so. Luckily, I hadn’t been exposed to any snide remarks or jokes…but it was merely a matter of time.

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I have the most incredible friends. They are fun and funny, talented, kind, honest, loyal, silly, smart and well-traveled. They are from all over the world, every beautiful color you can imagine, a variety of religions and sizes. They not only make me laugh, but they encourage me to look at life from a slightly different angle. My friends are my rainbow. What they bring to my life is the pot of gold we’re all hoping to find.

I have been after my friend Amy to write a blog entry for me since before I launched The V Word Blog. I know she’s working on the piece – maybe it’s still in her head at the moment – but it will arrive at soem point.  I know one day I will click on my mail icon and there it will be sitting in my inbox. In the meantime, I have Amy’s permission to post one of her funny, and far too short, videos. World, please meet Amy!

See more from Amy @AmyDetRiotGirl on Instagram