Thor, please excuse this moment of estrogenness.
As much as I, personally, dislike being compartmentalized into such “isms” as feminism, vegetarianism, lushism, and Barakism, I’m going to compartmentalize men in Cville. If we don’t get a post in response to this, I’ll go burn a bra. (Obvious joke: not like I need one, according to my last post.)
3 Types of Men in Charlottesville
1. The non-player player
You’re at the bar. He comes up to you and asks, “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
You think to yourself, “Really? Could have sworn I saw you with the same girl the past five times I saw you–” but you don’t say it because he looks so damn fine in pink. Instead, you say, “I’ve been around.” You think skeptically, “So have you…”
“I’ve missed you!” he says. He means it. You think he means it. He must mean it. Why else would he say it?
“We should go out again,” you say. He’s making great eye contact. You hate him for doing that. No you don’t.
“This weekend, I’m thinking about doing this charity triathlon, but are you free next, like, Monday?”
Did he just say charity? You totally underestimated him. You ask, “Do you still have my number?”
“You’ll never believe this– my phone broke and I had to reload all my numbers. I’m so glad I ran into you. Can you give it to me again?”
You knew that was what happened! “Okay! Where do you want to go?”
“Do you like Indian food?” he asks. “I’ve been dying to go to Milan.”
“I love it! But isn’t that a little, like, out of the way?”
“No, baby. It’s intimate.”
Just make sure the whole town doesn’t see you together in public.
2. The is-he or isn’t-he?
You’re finishing coffee on the Cubano patio with your girl friend on a Saturday afternoon. The guy you drunkenly made out with outside South Street waiting for the train to pass two Tuesdays ago (and again on your couch that Friday) is alternating between taking bites of pizza and canoodling the boy across the table.
Your friend practically has to flash you to get your attention.
One of your best guy friends, whose closet almost exclusively consists of pastel shades of argyle and plaid, is waiting for you to rejoin reality.
“You stalker! What are you looking at?” he asks.
“Nothing,” you tell him.
“Well, aren’t we on our period today!” he announces. So true. He turns to your friend. “So rude of me– hi, what’s your name?”
And, like the non-threatening charmer he is, he introduces himself to your friend. He holds on to her hand for way too long. Suddenly, he’s asking for her number. Suddenly, he’s inviting her to a Live Arts show. Suddenly, he’s asked her out to dinner and theater in front of you. “Why didn’t you tell me you have such hot friends?” he asks.
Great question.
3. The how old are you again?
You’ve gone on a few dates, and you’re impressed. He went to U.Va. He’s stayed for grad school, or to work for a financial company, or to generate some capital to pursue his dream of starting his own music promotion company. Whatever. The fact is that he asked you out on a date at all, which men seldom need to do here anymore. Furthermore, he’s old enough to have sophisticated tastes, and yet young enough to benchpress, well, you. It’s Friday and you had plans to hang out, but your boss has begged you to watch her kids for a couple of hours.
“I’m so sorry to break plans,” you tell him.
“I understand,” he says. Because he’s perfect.
“I can still meet up with you later tonight,” you assure him.
“It’s funny you say that,” he says. “Is it cool if I hang out at my frat?”
Is it cool? Duh, no. But you give him the benefit of a doubt. “Is there an alumni event or something?”
“No, just the guys, they want to hang out.”
“Okay! I’ll be finished around 8–”
“Actually, the party starts a little later.”
“Like, a frat party?”
Scoff. “It’s not a ‘frat.’ These are my brothers.”
That’s sweet. You’re both babysitting.
What else are we working with? Girls– speak UP! I can’t hear you.
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