The Last Time I'm Going to Say This

For most of my adult life, I have had an unusual and consistent talent: I can get almost any man to mention his wife within one or two sentences of our first conversation. Well, usually it’s a wife, sometimes a girlfriend, and usually it’s stated with a weird, panicked undercurrent, like if they don’t tell me RIGHT NOW, they are going to find themselves in some weird tapas restaurant with me, ordering martinis and trying to work in how they read poetry in their spare time.

Lest you believe that this has anything to do with me smiling, flirting, or even smizing (thanks, Tyra!), let me provide an example of a typical scenario. Picture this: there is a man standing at a row of microwaves, wearing chinos that are belted under his gut, giving him an interesting eggplant shape, wearing a generic button down, with a balding head, thick glasses and some kind of stubble that is probably not purposeful. Basically, picture Judah Friedlander without the hat. A woman approaches the microwave. “Yum, that smells good,” she says, putting her food in the microwave. His response: “Yeah, um….my wife picked it out.”

Really? Was that important for me to know? Does small talk at the microwave about your burrito really look like me wanting to take this to the next level? Well, perhaps, to him, it does. I recently heard of a study that concluded, essentially, that men think that any woman who looks or talks to them, for any reason at all, are attracted to them. It specifically mentions that men believe this even of women who are paid to interact with customers, like waitresses and cashiers at the grocery store. So I would like to set the record straight with you, married men of the world, for the last time: I am not interested in you.

Here are a few things that should clue you in: Number 1: you are married. I totally got that when I saw your hand. You know, the one with the ring on it? And, by the way, you look married – like you completely stopped trying at that “making the best of what ya got” thing right around your second anniversary and/or child. Believe it or not, I do not go to the gym five times a week so that I can meet you. In case you haven’t looked in the mirror lately, you have the hips of a suburban woman, you’re wearing a Livestrong bracelet, your shirt’s too long and your pants have pleats. I’m glad you found someone to love you, but don’t worry, it’s not me.

Number two: I do not know you! True, Mr. Security Guard, when I entered the building and said “Hi,” and then you proceeded to say, “My wife!” as a response, that might have seemed necessary at the time, but if you carefully deconstruct what I said, and then what you said, you will find that the two communications actually do not go together AT ALL. “Hi,” if you didn’t know, is really just a more polite way of saying, “Excuse me while I walk past you without saying anything more, person I will probably never see again or remember.” It certainly isn’t the same as saying, “Hello, I dream of one day making a difference in the world and I fear my own death. I love dogs, nature and chocolate, and I dislike green beans, ignorance and am terrified of guns. I want to know you and everything you are about. I dream of our future together.” Don’t you just think that, before you pull the wife/girlfriend card out, you should get beyond the basics of courtesy?

Number three: Complimenting your shirt is not the same as complimenting your ass! I do a fair amount of public speaking in my work, and a lot of my sessions are preceded by walking around, introducing myself to people and briefly talking to them. There are only so many times you can ask about the weather or traffic, so I am liberal in the use of, “I like your shoes/bag/shirt/tattoo/jewelry.” Women respond as follows, “Thanks, I got it at _______.” Every man: “Thanks. My wife/girlfriend likes it too.” Awesome! Who cares? In reality, even though your sweater is cute, complimenting is not tantamount to saying, “Damn, your ass is fine; I want to slap me some of that!” You are five-foot-five, you have a bushy moustache, and if I was, in fact, going to try to get me some of that, I probably wouldn’t do it at 8:30 in the morning in a room full of middle managers.

So, to recap: if I mention the following topics: weather, traffic, your tie, your health, your job, or, apparently, the burrito you have in the microwave, your marriage is SAFE. Got it, friends? Good.