Big Wig

trumphair27n-6-webI peered into the large glass front restaurant and knew it was him. He stood there, posed, one leg up on the bottom rung of the bar stool, looking confidently toward the front door. Even from twenty yards away I could tell something was off. What was going on with his hair? I approached suspiciously. He caught my eye and immediately turned on his heels kissing me on both cheeks. He was very animated and his skin tight and bright – heathy eating or Dermabrasion, I wondered. As he chatted away asking what I’d like to drink my eyes went back to his hair – full and dark brown – not a gray hair in site and no variation in color, a thick helmet of hair. Surely it was a wig. Not just a wig but one of the worst wigs I’ve seen in my life. I was angry with myself for being disappointed. What if he had been ill? Surely, I could forgive a wig.toupees64002

As my date downed two ice teas and I sipped half a bottle of San Pellegrino I looked past the wig and focused instead on his crepe-y skin. It was not the skin of a man my age let alone someone a few years younger as he had mentioned. I immediately wondered if he had lied on his dating profile. Pink flag. Hair and age could not be vetted on the telephone. I told myself to see if I liked the guy and then worry about the wig and the fib about his age.

The most interesting part of the date was when he mentioned that he was working with a woman, I’ll call Sandra, I had met decades before. And a woman who I knew had been a high-priced call girl/madam for New York’s elite. These were women who wore only Chanel, Armani and Balenciaga. Their designer handbags only carried a lipstick and a hundred dollar bill which naturally they couldnever break. They dripped in jewelry and tended to travel by chauffered cars way before Uber, Gett and Lyft. Sandra was now a legitimate business owner and living at one of the most prestigious buildings in the city. When I asked how they had met, my date said he knew her a good twenty-five years after that he suddenly became very evasive. Another flag.toupee

Wig or not, I knew that my date wasn’t for me. I looked at my watch and said I had to run. My date seemed disappointed I was skipping out so soon. I kissed both his cheeks and was on my way.

Three days later while on my personal Facebook page a “Friend Suggestion” popped up. I examined the familiar photo. It was my date with the wig! The really surprising thing was his name appeared as Dominic Christiano not Dominic Black. I thought back to our initial phone conversation where he dropped his last name. Something about the way he fit it into the conversation didn’t feel natural. So when I hung up, I did something I normally would not do, I Googled him. I couldn’t find one person with his full name – and oh, yes. I spelled it every which way. In today’s world this was a dark pink flag.

bad_toupeeI left Facebook and googled Dominic Christiano and up popped an awful lot of information about my date! He was actually 17 years older than he had told me! Yes, 17. One – Seven! And they say women take off a year or two! Surely he had had a facelift! That was just the tip of the iceberg. There was also an $70 million-plus judgment against Bad Wig for falsely marketing and devising an “elaborate hoax” for hair-growth products! Initially, I found that extremely funny considering the awful toupee until  I began to realize how many people he had deceived. This guy had lived the life of Riley while hair challenged people had spent thousands of dollars hoping for some hair miracle.

Ladies, and gentlemen, trust your gut and do your research before you get involved. A pink flag will likely become a field of red flags. You surely don’t want to be dating a criminal with or without a wig.

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Grin Fucker

 

_63032369_63032368I don’t usually go to brunch but he was rather insistent, We were both in the city for the weekend and the weather was still warm. I had plans that evening but my day was free. I let him twist my arm. I don’t like brunch for a number of reasons: I prefer my own eggs made the way I like them, I don’t put milk in my tea so its always too hot to sip, I don’t drink during the day and worst of all, some men think since they take you to brunch you will spend the ENTIRE day together. I like men but I like my free time more than most. 90 minutes of my time on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon is all you’re getting unless I love you.

He texted me in the morning:

Does 12:30 work? I’ll make a reservation

followed by

Can we say 12:45?  I’m running a little late. 

just as I was on my way out the door. Grrrr… I decided rather than go back inside and catch up on emails I’d use the time to tackle a few errands. I bought a fresh Snob lipstick at MAC and was on my way to the post office when I got a third text.

I’m here. Just come now.

It was 12:35. I generally try to be pleasant on a first date so I forgave him but at the same time my brain was telling me :this guy seems controlling and will make you jump through hoops for him. I told myself to relax. I was constantly talking myself out of men even before I met them. I wasn’t going to do that today. I would be kind and forgiving. And just go with the flow

I met him outside of Isabella’s, a Mediterranean style restaurant know for brunch on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. He was tall with a boyish grin. He was also a Brit – did I mention that? He was wearing a sports jacket, turtle neck and a fine plaid scarf. He rode his bike from the east side – I liked that! So far so good.

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The hostess directed us to a table outside. He asked “Can we sit there instead?” pointing to a corner table. “My legs.” he explained. He was very tall. When the server came over with water he said, “This table is too noisy. I feel like we’re eating in the kitchen. Can we move?”

We were directed to the other side of the outdoor cafe. I sat down in the new location.”Actually can we sit over there?” I got up and moved to the now third table.The table was wobbly. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice but he did. I leaned down and fixed it with my newspaper. Mission accomplished. I popped back up and he said, I kid you not,”Can you sit here? I like to sit at a 45 degree angle.” Thinking he was joking I didn’t move. He said, “Here just come sit here in the corner.” I was not enjoying this. Then he said,

“I like your earrings. Who bought them for you?” When I looked at him in disbelief he said, “You heard me. Who bought them for you? Husband? Lover? Boyfriend?”

“I bought them for myself.”

“You did not.”

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“I most certainly did and why would I bother to lie about such a thing?”

He shut up just as the server placed my meal in front of me.”You’re not going to eat all of that, I bet. I’ll just wait until you’re done and then I’ll finish it up.”

I was furious. I asked myself, do I make an excuse and leave? Do I go to the bathroom and disappear?Just say I don’t think this is going to work and take off. No. Stupid, ever so polite, me stayed.

I didn’t want to make a scene and leave. I didn’t want to be as rude. I sat there barely able to eat because I was so disgusted. I picked at the goat cheese on my salad and ate a few candied walnuts. I did not ask him one single question. He bombarded me with questions that I answered as though I were jumping rope. He asked me three times where I went to school. I pointed this out the second time he asked. He said, “Maybe I’m running out of questions.” I just smiled and said “Maybe.” When he asked me a third time, I just started making up shit. Lots of shit.

I think he realized it. He began to talk about his children. “Do you know what a ‘grin fucker’ is? That’s what my daughter is.”

He explained, “she will smile to your face and say she wants to be your best friend and then she will fuck you behind your back. My daughter is a bitch. Just like her mother and her grandmother. She runs Princeton. I don’t mean she runs it but she has everyoneno-coffee running around for her.”

Next he was on to his son,”My son is a basket case. A real fuck up but he’s a hell of a nice kid. Everyone loves him. He’s a mess.”

I finally  did speak up, “I’d rather have a fucked up kid with a good heart than a beautiful bitch for a daughter.”

The waitress came over and asked,

“Coffee?”

“No thanks,. I’ve got to dash. Cheerio.” I crossed the street and never looked back.

Isabella’s is located at 359 Columbus Avenue (corner of 77th Street) 212-724-2100

It’s a great place to eat, just don’t go with an asshole.

Dating Peter Pan

Wendy_saved copyright Disney  I had a first date on Sunday. The guy initially seemed really great; supposedly successful career, amicable divorce, son in college, and he had a dog. I like dogs. Although I wasn’t physically attracted to him (bald, glasses, pasty white skin and a terrible dresser) he seemingly had so many good qualities that I was hoping his appearance would grow on me.

Our late morning date consisted of a walk in a local park and a single drink (even though everyone ese was having brunch) at a well-known restaurant. It may or may not be important to mention that I think he only had tap water – he went up to the bar and brought the drinks back to our table so it’s merely an eduated guess. I should have realized thing were about to go south…

My date offered to walk me home. Having enjoyed the park and our easy conversation, I agreed. We went back to his place for a second to pick up his dog, Becky. I very comfortably followed him inside the vestibule.

“You’re coming in?” He sounded surprised.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just following you. I can wait here. I didn’t mean to be so intrusive.” Normally, I would never step foot into a man’s home unless I was prepared to have sex. This was different. It was a Sunday afternoon, I had only had a Perrier at the bar, I felt extremely comfortable, and I wasn’t feeling any sexual vibes whatsoever. I thought the dog would come running to the front door and we’d turn around and leave. That’s not what happened. My date invited me in.

There were no windows aside from the sliding door to the backyard. The room had plain, bright white walls. There were two pillow-less, worn couches, one blue and one cranberry, and a pair of non-matching distressed (from use not for style) cocktail tables. Everything seemed to be askew and didn’t coordinate in any such way. West Elm and Ikea were high-end compared to this stuff. Mind you, I have nothing against IKEA, I even have some pieces, but this apartment was so barren and boring and just plain weird. Yeah, I get that he’s a guy and most guys don’t have good taste but there were no books, no photos, nothing hanging on the walls. It was as though he just moved in – or a college student had just moved in. I found it weird that a 49-year-old who had resided somewhere for the last 17 years lived like this. Red flags were popping up all over. I wished they had been matching red throw pillows, a Rothko print, and a carpet instead of flags.

While my date got Becky’s leash I peered out the ancient, cracked, and broken sliding glass door to the saddest backyard I’ve ever seen. No trees, grass, plants or even a table or chair. It was a vacant lot for the dog to use as a toilet. I felt sorry for the dog. images-5

My date and his trusty pooch walked me to my corner. I knew we’d never see each other again. All the while I thought about the sneakers and baseball cap he was wearing, no offer for a meal, that horrible backyard, and his home. I wondered if I was an awful snob, impossibly ridiculous on finding a mate, and that was why I was still single. And then in that moment I decided I would not beat myself up. We were just not a match and that was that. Back to the drawing board. And then he went in for a wet kiss right on my lips. Heal, boy, heal.