Sex and Chocolate: Why Variety and Frequency Really Do Matter

Originally published January 5, 2012.

Here’s what woke me up in the middle of the night a few days ago. Call it a dream, or a maybe a vision. Heck, some men out there might go so far as to think it’s a message from above for all women.

Here’s how the tale unfolded: Dressed in way too much tulle, I was standing at the altar, beaming at my husband-to-be. Though the rest of the details were a bit fuzzy, the wrinkles, sagging, and cellulite which have encroached on my body over the past 13 years were all magically erased. As I stood there radiating with every promise of the perfect life to come, I naively repeated the traditional wedding vows. The strange thing was that this time, my wedding vows were a little different than I remembered from the first go-round. There was a line inserted which went something like this: “And I promise to love, cherish, and eat only Hershey’s original chocolate bars for as long as we both shall live.”

Seemed odd. Promising to devote myself to only one type of chocolate? A bit restrictive perhaps?

It quickly dawned on me that with such vows, the only chocolate I’d be eating for the rest of my married life would be rectangular bars stamped with “Hershey’s.” This strange vow dictated that no Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Snickers, or even a Hershey’s Kiss would pass my lips for the rest of my married days if I was to remain faithful to my husband. And it went without saying that I’d have to abstain from my quest for the perfect square of dark chocolate. No other brand or type of chocolate forever and ever, Amen.

That brief foray into an imaginary world was a bit disturbing to me. I like chocolate. I like different kinds of chocolate. I experience a physiological response when I see chocolate. My mouth waters when I smell warm chocolate chip cookies. My eyes lustfully graze over the offerings of chocolate at the check-out, particularly at the better grocery stores which source a diverse selection of quality bars. I even look forward to savoring a square of dark chocolate every morning. No offense to Hershey’s, but the thought that I would be restricted to only a mediocre chocolate bar for the rest of my life seemed like quite a sacrifice.

Maybe I have a problem. Then again, maybe at some level, it’s human nature to feel like that.

And now, I’ll take this opportunity to suggest that perhaps women’s connection to chocolate can provide a glimpse of what it’s like on the other side of the bed. Albeit a weak analogy, I think there’s a little bit in here for all of us women.

Essentially, what your husband said when he stood at that altar was that he was going to eat only Hershey’s Bars for the rest of his life. Perhaps you consider yourself more like a sassy Snickers bar or a sophisticated hand-painted artisan chocolate. Either way, you get the point. Eating only one type of candy for the rest of one’s life would get kind of monotonous. Especially when he really likes chocolate and there’s a lot of chocolate out there. Now whether or not he’d even have the chance to taste all that chocolate out there is another blog post altogether. But back to the chocolate analogy– in some cases, adding to the depressing situation would be a strict frequency limitation: begrudging tastes only once or twice a month.

I’m no expert on men, but I imagine it’s not always easy for them to remain faithful. It’s no secret that just like it’s more common for women to have eating disorders/body image distortion/weight gain, many men struggle with sexual issues at varying levels. Even if he doesn’t act on his desires, lust is there nagging in his mind. Just look at the wealthy and powerful. Those men can write their own ticket in this department. And look at what a mess they make. Men who have remained faithful are akin to a woman who hasn’t gained an extra 15 pounds over her last 10 years of wedded bliss (eating too much chocolate, no doubt). Therefore, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to say that a woman’s food issues could be akin to a man’s sex drive. From a survival of the species angle, this makes sense. In most species, males procreate, sometimes with multiple females, while females are responsible for care and feeding of the young. Sex for men. Food for women. Maybe we’re just not as evolved as we think we are.

Momentum, monogamy, and creativity are tough to keep up. I’ve failed miserably at all of these at different points in my marriage. There are days that I don’t feel creative. There are nights that I watch the elapsing clock in the wee small hours of the morning, wondering if we’ve got what it takes to keep going. (Of course, starting those mornings with a good piece of dark chocolate does make it all seem a little easier.)

Finally, here’s a tricky one to put out there.

We have to put out a little more. We’re all they’ve got.

You’re his Hershey’s bar. And just like I eat chocolate on a pretty regular basis, he’d probably be glad for a bit more action. An occasional reluctant nod in his direction is not enough.

I know—he doesn’t deserve it. You’re annoyed that he made a snarky comment when you asked him to put his dirty socks in the basket, totally messed up your last anniversary and apologized only after you pitched a fit, worked late all week and then went to poker night, didn’t help put the kids to bed or bring the trash cans in. And then when he did unload the dishwasher that one time, he expected his reward should be you on your knees thanking him. There’s never a lack of legitimate reasons to say no. And there are lots of blogs about men behaving badly and needing denial discipline. Sometimes it’s the only behavior modification tool we have. And it goes without saying that a woman should never put herself in a compromising situation where she’s disrespected, abused, or used. But I’m not talking about dysfunctional, unhealthy relationships or about exhausted women who work full-time with three children under the age of four.

For the rest of us in stable, healthy relationships, I’m merely putting it out there that instead of examining sex as a pawn, a means of manipulation, or a punishment, realize we’re all in this together.

Maybe I’ve taken this whole analogy a bit too far, but it comes down to this: Men love sex. Women love chocolate (or food in general). Both are arguably biological drives. I’m not suggesting that we all need to have sex on a trampoline (that actually came up in the conversation at about 11:30 p.m. one girls’ night with a few too many French Martinis). And as it goes with chocolate, we don’t always need to be having peak culinary experiences. (Though I’d never be one to rule out edible body chocolate if the opportunity arose).

My point is merely that we may all have a bit more in common than we realize. Monotony and denial are our enemies.

Finally, if you made a terrible mistake and made your faithful promises to chocolate dipped sweet and sour gummy worms, Butterfingers, or those waxy white chocolate bunnies you can pick up for a dollar around Easter, my musings are null and void. I’m so sorry. It’ll take more than some high quality chocolate every day to solve your problems.

And to my single sisters—let this be a lesson to choose your candy wisely. Consider an upfront, solid version with few artificial colors or flavors. Look for honest packaging with clear labels so you know what you’re getting. Most importantly, make sure your candy is sourced in a way that aligns with your values and moral code and that it can adapt to a multitude of combinations, while remaining classic and steadfast for a lifetime.

“A Man Is Only As Faithful As His Options”: Why Men Play the Field

“A man is only as faithful as his options.” –Chris Rock

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine who has been serial dating or multi-dating or whatever you want to call the exhausting effort of going out with more than one person at a time and trying to keep it all straight in your head began talking to me about how to know “when it’s time.”

Yeah, you know, when it’s time to shed all the chaff and focus on that one person who is floating your boat a good bit more than all the others.

This is not an easy question, and everyone seems to have different answers.

I’ll never forget the boldness of one of my girlfriends, who, after a year of dating her now husband, said, “Look, if you’re not going to ask me to marry you in the next year, I’m not going to continue dating you.” An engagement ring arrived on her finger before the 12 months was up. He wasn’t letting that one get away.

I don’t know many people who are quite as brave as that, however. And forget marriage. My other friend was only talking about monogamous dating–that ether land between dating so many people at once you need a spreadsheet to keep them straight (um, yeah, I’ve done that) and the specter of deep commitment.

Is specter too strong a word? I think not. Not if you’re over 35…and have been married at least once.

I think it’s harder for women than for men. Men still operate under this fear that every woman they go out with wants a wedding ring on her finger and a new baby in the nursery. (This is especially true if you occupy that “under 40” space.) So anytime a woman brings up the idea of exclusive dating, the guy often gets that “oh shit” look, thinking that exclusivity immediately translates into some brutal chain of married existence where he has nothing more to look forward to than a recliner, football, and a beer. Nevermind that’s pretty much what he’s doing anyway when you’re not around….

But honestly, ladies, if you wait for the guy to bring it up, you could wait your whole life in most cases. That’s because men, by and large, like to play the field for as long as they can get away with it…and sometimes longer. As comedian Chris Rock once put it, “A man is only as faithful as his options.”

Don’t presume it’s because you’re not worthy of his full attention. In fact, the more worthy you are, the more likely he will play the field. Because on some level, he worries deeply that he is not worthy of you. Trust me on this, ladies. His brain, probably subconsciously because men don’t like to think consciously about complicated emotional stuff, is saying, “She is so beautiful, so smart, so funny, so charming, I don’t know what she’s doing with me. She doesn’t need me. And there are so many guys out there way better looking than I am. I need to keep one leg on the other side of the fence…just in case.”

Just in case what?

Just in case you ditch him because he’s bald and wears stupid looking ties.

Yes, it’s the back-up plan disease, I’m afraid, and most men suffer from it. The more they adore you, the more frightened they are you will turn tail and run one day. Better to keep someone a little less lovely and intriguing in the background, so he can still get a back massage and a dinner date when you finally decide he’s right about himself.

Which you likely won’t do…but he doesn’t know that.

So what’s a woman to do? I asked a friend of mine this question. She’s a good 10 years older, twice married, hopefully far wiser than I, and even she said, “About men, we’ll never know why they’re so weird.”

I’m not sure I agree. I think I have a modicum of understanding about their weirdness. I should given how many of them have been unknowing lab rats for this blog.

I dated a guy once for about three months. Things were going along fine until I innocently tagged him on Facebook…without any indication, mind you, that he was my “boyfriend.” The next thing I know I get a box in the mail with the high heels I’d left at his house accidentally and a sudden disruption of communication. I’m guessing I was one of the back-up plans, and he was concerned the no. 1 gal was going to get suspicious.

The other reason he’s not committing? He’s worried that looking attached might prevent him from that magic moment he frequently envisions in his head when he buys the voluptuous blond at some bar a drink and has her in his bed two hours later. It doesn’t matter that this magic moment is about as likely to occur as Sarah Palin becoming President.

Some women would be quick to call this the behavior of a “jerk.” And yeah, in a less lucid moment, I’d probably agree. But men aren’t like us. They operate under this notion that keeping everyone in the dark prevents pain. And yeah, it does, initially. But there’s nothing quite like learning that the man you’ve been madly in love with for four years has been fooling around on the side…just in case. Trust me, the kinder approach would have been honesty from the get-go.

Time is a precious and fleeting thing. Don’t waste it thinking that guy you adore with the roving eye (okay roving “Richard,” as we know they all have roving eyes) is going to stop his behavior just because you want him to.

Because  a man really doesn’t put himself in your shoes as readily as you try to put yourself in his (it’s socialization, baby), though I’ll admit, trying to understand why men do the things they do is often, as Confucius might say, kind of like trying to find a black cat in a dark room.

A little self-respect on your part, ladies, might go a long way–i.e. don’t be afraid to stand up and say, “no deal” if the field playing time is over for you but apparently not for him.  If he really likes you as much as his fear that you will dump him belies (hence, why he keeps all comers in the wings), he might actually take what is to him a wild risk and focus on you…but you just might have to ask instead of expect. Expecting things of people rarely accomplishes anything but resentment.  Instead let him know he doesn’t really need that back-up plan or affirmation from the attractive lady at the bar. All he really needs is you.

Mind Fuck For Girls: Why I Don’t Believe in Fairy Tales…Or Do I?

Originally published March 2, 2012

Coral, gold, and gemstone on Ponte Vecchio

Last Saturday I promised my four-year-old daughter movie and pizza night if she behaved herself all day while I caught up on work in the office.  I don’t know as I would go so far as to call my daughter “girly.”  She hates baby dolls, loves cars, trucks, trains and LEGOs and is especially fond of getting as dirty as possible when outdoors, but she also has a fondness for all things Barbie and princess.  I’m okay with Barbie, and I’m actually okay with princesses, too, as long as we’re just talking about dressing up in a fabulous gown and looking beautiful for the day.

But there is a point at which my tolerance runs a little thin. Heidi persistently asks for Disney princess or Barbie princess movies–you know the ones where the girl finds her “one true love” and lives “happily ever after.”  And much though I’d like to pretend my efforts to make her strong, independent, and choosy are overriding all this falderal, I know they’re not.

I still try though and resisted Heidi’s begging for yet another Barbie princess movie last weekend and chose instead the movie Enchanted. You may have seen it. It’s a little bit of an anti-fairytale with the otherworldly princess rejecting Prince Charming in favor of an imperfect marriage to a New York divorce lawyer. It still has the flavor of happily ever after, but it’s a slightly better twisting of reality.

Heidi loved it, and she even got it when the princess fought the dragon instead of the divorce lawyer. But still, it wasn’t perfect. Because the princess fails, and both she and her lover are saved by a chipmunk. Women are still not allowed to save themselves in fairytales.

A friend of mind calls Disney princess “mind-fuck for girls.” I think that’s an apt description.

Rare is the woman, no matter how intelligent, who does not suffer to some degree from a childhood of fairytale mind-fucking. I always thought it had bypassed me.  Instead of browsing through catalogs at pictures of stunning wedding gowns as a pre-adolescent girl, I was cutting out pictures of my dream house…which I did eventually build, by the way. It seemed to me, even when I was quite young, that I had a much better chance of building the perfect house than of finding the perfect man.

You can control the construction of a house. Love is something else entirely. It runs where it wants to without asking anyone’s permission in advance. And most men are not prepared to be Prince Charming. They didn’t grow up watching princess movies. So there’s an emotional disconnect between boys and girls right from the get-go. My preschooler recognizes it already. She told me in the car one day, “Boys are stupid, Mommy.” I nodded, for there was much truth in this statement. And then she continued, “Daddy is a boy, so Daddy must be stupid.”

I laughed aloud, as I often do when profundity on a grand scale comes out of Heidi’s mouth. One of my girlfriends told me Heidi is far more advanced than we ever were as girls if she already gets the idea that guys don’t get us.

Even though my parents raised me not too put too much credence in fairytales and to make my own way in the world without relying on anyone else to make it for me, they apparently did not protect me enough. Because I still grew up believing that maybe, just maybe, I would fall in love with my best friend and live happily ever after.

A better view than the jewelry: on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence

It didn’t happen. Not for lack of trying. I think, like so many women (especially young ones), I did my best to cram romantic partners into my personal visions of Prince Charming. And the poor men could not help but fail. My former husband had no idea I actually wanted to be proposed to at the lovely overlook where we first watched the sunset on Skyline Drive. I honestly don’t remember exactly anymore how he asked, it was so unmemorable. Others were worse. Like the boyfriend who foolishly told me he’d bought me a diamond just out of the blue with no indication beforehand that marriage was even on the table. I told him he better pay off his college loans and credit card debt before he dared show me the thing. Thank heaven for that caveat. We broke up long before he had his finances in order, and I was saved from what probably would have been a disastrous marriage.

So I don’t have a romantic proposal story about being carried off on a white horse into the sunset to pass onto my daughter. But then my mother didn’t have one to pass onto me either. She got her engagement ring in the mail. (My dad was in the Air Force in Texas at the time.)

And maybe these anti-fairytales are better anyway. For what pain women suffer in believing that a man will sweep them off their feet one day and love and cherish them forever after. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, mind you. But it’s rare. In my 36 years, I’ve encountered only one such couple. They were in their 50s when I met them, working at a museum where I had a part-time job during grad school. They’d been married 30 years. Every day at the end of work, that man would come into the gift shop where his wife worked, scoop her up off her feet, and kiss her. And she would giggle like a young bride. It was amazing to watch. Everyone in that museum shop would turn to look, no matter how many times we had seen it. And we all longed to be so lucky.

Because a lot of it is luck in the end, isn’t it?  Chances are Mr. Right is out there for you.  But chances are he lives on the other side of the country or maybe halfway across the world. He may not even speak the same language as you. How do you find him? That man whose personality is so magnetic that you’ll forgive him a thousand times for failing to put his socks in the hamper or for failing to pick the kids up on time? (Because you know the reason you’re really mad at your husband about his sloppiness and forgetfulness is because you’re mad at him for not being Prince Charming, right?) He’s not your match, and both of you know it, so you spar over the kids’ grades, whose turn it is to do the grocery shopping, why his mother is coming over again, and what to do on the weekend that everyone will enjoy.

Most of us settle for Mr. Half-Right. Or maybe even Mr. One-Quarter-Right because we know that our chances of finding the true Mr. Right are very slim. And someone told us somewhere, likely in a fairytale, that we have to get married, have kids, and pretend to live happily ever after with our “one true love.”

I’d like to think I’m over it. Sometimes I think I am. I’m a realist at least 85 percent of the time. I know men and women often don’t speak the same language, that they have wholly different expectations, that neither gender can be expected to read the other’s mind. I know that 90 percent of the time when a man hurts me, frustrates me, makes me crazy, he really has no idea he’s doing it.

But then something will inspire me to start believing in fairytales again…or at least make me want to believe. It happened most recently last November when Dorothy and I were in Florence, Italy, walking the famous Ponte Vecchio. In case you don’t know, it’s a famous bridge spanning the Fiume Arno that is lined with shops selling gold and silver jewelry. I’ve never been much into jewelry. Once when my former spouse suggested he should update my engagement ring, get me something with a bigger diamond, I told him if he had that much money, I would be far happier with a fantastic vacation or a piece of land. (I never got the diamond, by the way, or a vacation, or a new piece of real estate.) But something about this romantic 1345 bridge in Florence, overlooking the river, with its shops of jewelry and the couples hand-in-hand walking across it gave me a little regretful thrill.

“Wouldn’t it be grand to get proposed to on this bridge?” I suddenly said to Dorothy. “And then go into one of these shops and pick out your ring?”

Dorothy, like me, is something of a cynic about love, but even she had to agree. Yes, that would indeed be fantastic. And so we stood there a moment in between all the glistening shops, looking out over the water and the city, daydreaming about something that was long gone for both of us. And I think we felt a little foolish that we even had such a girlish daydream—two business-owning women who had paid for their own trips to Italy and gone unaccompanied by husbands or lovers.

The “mind-fuck for girls,” as my friend called it, apparently outlasts education, prosperity, experience, even divorce. Which really leads me to wonder what it’s all about, why we can’t let go. Is it something like the “Hope” of Pandora’s Box? Does the idea that the “one true love” is out there somewhere keep us trudging onward in the most hopeless of circumstances, enduring the string of dates with men who are not “the one,” sifting through them all, wondering, and wondering if Prince Charming is ever going to show up? Do we really go through all of this thinking we’re going to be the rare and lucky woman who truly lands Mr. Right??

Maybe.

I know there have been times in my life when I have wanted to shout like Charlotte in Sex and the City, “I’m 35! Where is he?!”

I remember watching a friend of mine walk down the aisle a few years ago. And if anyone had been through the relationship ringer, she was it. I remembered her lamenting during her days as a single, dating woman, “I’m exhausted by it. I am exhausted by dating men, none of whom are right. I just want to give up.” But one day, years later, she walked down the aisle arm-in-arm with the man she believed to be “the one,” and the beaming smile on her face gave me hope for a moment.

Maybe this will be it, I thought. Maybe she really found him, and they’re going to be in love forever. She’ll prove it’s possible. I even told her so.  “Make me believe,” I urged her.

But that’s not how it happened. Her husband is not picking her up into his arms at the end of every workday and planting an “oh, my god, I am so in love with you” kiss on her lips. The question is though: does he need to be?

And I’m afraid the answer might actually be “yes.”

But do I say that because I’ve been mind-fucked, too?

Probably.

But I do know two women who found love in their 60s…finally. And at least one of them is quite madly in love. I think of her sometimes when I start feeling hopeless. I remind myself there is always that five percent or less chance that something magical might indeed cross my path one day.

Crazier things have happened.

It never crossed my mind, for example, when I was the child of hard-working parents just barely getting by at times that I would one day enjoy the luxury of standing on the Ponte Vecchio looking at diamonds and coral pendants and perhaps, more importantly, looking across the centuries-old architecture of the city where Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci once lived.

I bought a ring for myself that day. It was not a diamond. It was not even expensive. I bought it from the jeweler on the bridge with only a few dozen pieces in his window. He told me he was able to sell the same pieces as his neighbors so much cheaper because of his low overhead. I slipped it on my finger, pulled my leather gloves back over my hands, and proceeded on my way to the Galleria degli Ufizzi to look at the original paintings of Botticelli, Raphael, and El Greco, something I also would never have imagined being able to do on a typical writer’s salary.

It did not occur to me until later that I had done my best to live out my fairytale thus far. And perhaps that simple gold filigree band was something of a self-engagement ring for me, not on the scale of the famous right-hand diamond. My fairytale is not quite that big, not yet. And I suspect if it ever gets that big, I’ll be buying more land with mountain vistas or maybe checking out Antarctica, not frittering money away on diamonds. Who knows?  That is the beauty of it, too. The not knowing what’s around the next bend.

In the tale of Pandora’s box, humanity is saved by hope. But hope is not sitting on a windowsill wishing for Prince Charming to come dashing around the corner. Hope is active. It is work. It is believing…and doing…and being…even when the evidence suggests that the game will not end as you would like. It’s still worth a bold attempt. Don’t leave it to princes and chipmunks to save you. That’s great if one comes along and gives you a lift. But try lifting yourself first.

I’ve Got It Under Control: A Woman’s Guide to Male Speak

Originally published October 15, 2011

Have you ever noticed that men, generally speaking, don’t like to be questioned? And I’m not talking the “Where have you been for the past four hours?” type questions. I’m talking about any questions. Dare to ask, and you’ll get one of two answers: the “oh shit” stare or the “I’ve got it under control” answer. With my husband, it’s usually the latter. “Are you going to change the oil in my car today?” A simple “yes” or “no” answer is all that’s required, right? Not so. “I’ve got it under control,” he says. What does that mean? Does it men “yes” or “no?” Or does it mean something else entirely?

I know I’m not alone here. One of my best friends, who has been married just under two years, has already had this experience. “Men do not like being probed,” she tells me about four months after their son is born. She has contacted me to try to unravel her new husband’s frequent response of “I’ve got it under control.” She recounts to me how she walked into the kitchen one morning to find a bag of breast milk sitting on the counter while her beloved spouse was surfing on the Internet with his iPad, the baby comfortably asleep nearby. Now as any nursing mother knows, it takes a good 30 minutes to pump out four ounces of milk, and most of us are so time-strapped we’ve even been known to engage in the process while commuting to work. You would think men would be cognizant of the sacrifice. As my friend gracefully pointed out when relating this story, “If the damn milk sits out for more than two hours, it goes bad, and you know how freaking time consuming it is to pump that stuff!”

Yes, I do. Her husband, however, does not, or so we think at first.

My dear friend began to question the man: “What are you going to do with it?”

He became frustrated, told her not to worry about it, that he was “handling” it.

And my friend wondered, What the hell did that mean?

Being the direct kind of creature she is (after all, she’s a woman), she said, “What do you mean? Should I warm it up? Where are you going to put it? Do you need an ice pack?”

Of course, that line of questioning, unbeknownst to her, was going to get her nowhere. All he said was, “I’ve got it under control.”

My friend’s response to that was to take the milk pack off the counter and put it in the refrigerator.

So what does the “I’ve got it under control” answer mean anyway? Because it obviously does not mean “I’ve got it under control.” The unrefrigerated bag of breast milk is a case in point.

We must dig deeper because, as my friend noted, “Men are masters of avoiding and diverting.”

And mental sleuths though women are, we really cannot read minds. And how indeed are we supposed to figure anything out if these men don’t answer simple questions?

Never fear, ladies. I have the answers.

Because this phenomenon is not unique to husbands and boyfriends. My dad does it. Hell, my lawyer does it. But the reality is, to a man, there is no such thing as an innocent question. Unfortunately, women unwittingly ask simple things like the following, expecting simple, straightforward answers:

1) Are you going to fix the tractor today?

2) Why is the milk sitting out on the counter?

3) When are you going to remodel the basement?

4) Where would you like to go on vacation?

They seem like innocent questions, yet they can stifle the male brain for hours. Why? Well, the reality is that men, generally speaking, find questions threatening. Though women have often been blamed for “reading into things,” I would like to suggest, ladies, that the gentlemen are projecting. Never heard that term? Time to take Pscyh 101.

The trick is to share information about yourself first. It loosens them up, makes them more comfortable with the concept of talking. Or ask the question in a way that takes their opinions into account, gives them an opportunity to share expertise (i.e. instead of “why are you doing this,” ask “what do you think about doing this.”)

So, let’s try the above questions again, keeping the male brain in mind:

1) I really like the tractor. It’s fun to drive.

2) That’s interesting that the breast milk is sitting on the counter. What do you think about breast milk sitting on the counter?

3) It will be wonderful when the basement is finished. I am dreaming about how it will look.

4) I’d like to go to Egypt on vacation. What do you think about that? What do you think our chances are of getting shot?

Just remember, under no circumstance should you ever use the word “feel” when asking a question. Never ask “How do you feel about going to my mother’s for the weekend?” or “How do you feel about our relationship?” The word “feel” gives men the willies, no matter how it’s used. You will never get any useful information out of man by asking how he feels. Trust me.

If you get the “I’ve got it under control” answer, that’s a clear indicator you’ve just achieved communication failure. Because what “I’ve got it under control” really means is “when you question me, it makes me feel like you don’t trust me and don’t believe I can handle things.” Of course, it might also mean, “I forgot to put the breast milk back in the fridge, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to admit I screwed up.”

So, ladies, remember: share yourself, and give him an opportunity to offer his expertise, and you’ll get a lot farther. He might even take out the trash for you.

Did I Shave My Legs for This??

Courtesy of Kay Jewelers–What is this supposed to be? A heart? A serpent? Boobs and a butt?

In 2008, one of my favorite authors, Jeffrey Eugenides (“Middlesex”) edited a compendium of love stories entitled “My Mistress’s Sparrow is Dead.”

In promoting the then-upcoming book, Eugenides sat down with NPR’s Michelle Norris. I was on my way home at the time and tuned in. A snippet:

Norris: Wait a minute — an author who puts together a collection of love stories has total antipathy for Valentine’s Day?

Eugenides: Oh yeah. Don’t you think it’s the cheapening and commodification of something rare that we’d all like to celebrate in private and on our own time?

Norris: I personally like flowers and chocolate.

Eugenides: Well, your special person, I hope, is listening.

…Did I mention Eugenides is one of my favorite writers?

Last year on Valentine’s Day I was standing in line behind three work-weary men, each wielding tragically sad heart-shaped boxes of chocolate marked 20% off. (I was there for the aisle of more romantic cough syrups and Kleenexes.)

Why, oh why, February 14, you masochistic Hallmark holiday that all the consuming-loving masses hungrily devour?

What is it that makes normally intelligent people purchase a box of crappy chocolates that may or may not have a picture of the men from “Duck Dynasty” on the heart-shaped box? (I saw that one the other day.)

Why heart-shaped jewelry?

Why red roses with sprigs of trash flowers named after someone’s breath?

Why the tacky teddies slumped over warped hangers in the lingerie section of Sears?

Or ugly stuffed animals holding crushed red velvet heart pillows with horrific slogans like “Can’t Keep My Paws Off You.”

Why the need to tell the world—or just all your “friends”—via a Facebook wall how much your significant other means to you? And why on February 14?

Because we all know that nothing says love like telling your spouse who, I’m sure is available by phone, text or likely sitting right next to you, that you love him for all 550 of your friends to see … right? Who are you trying to persuade? But I digress.

Instead of overt calorie-laden or monetary gestures, here are the things I’d appreciate from my spouse on February 14 … or any other day:

The dishes get done.

• Reading to the kids.
• Having an actual conversation that doesn’t involve diapers or finances.
• A trip to the bathroom without kids banging on the door.
• A long, hot bath by myself.
• Clothes folded.
• Floors mopped.
• Dinner cooked.
• Diapers changed.

Something small but significant. I’m lucky. These are things he helps out with on a daily basis—things I desperately need and still appreciate. Chocolates may be sticky and delicious, but they don’t hold a relationship together. Neither do ambiguous-shaped pendants that Jane Seymour hawks at Kay Jewelers.

To the sad sack men in Rite Aid—and any guy over the age of 18—listen up: Heart-shaped anything is ugly. If you plan to go the jewelry route, might I suggest a more tasteful princess cut or oval?

And if you want to celebrate on a different day—you know, a day where flowers aren’t marked up 400%—February 9 is a nice day (nevermind that it’s my birthday).

And maybe, just maybe, if you want to send flowers, pick peonies.
Trust me on this.

In Search of the All-Purpose V-Day Gift for Men….

Originally posted by Deborah Huso on Feb 6, 2012 in Men, Relationships

That dreaded holiday is approaching again. No, not Mother’s Day, though I think Valentine’s Day has got to run a close second. Who hates Valentine’s Day more than a single girl without a date? A woman who has been married more than two years….

And here’s why. It’s not because we don’t like a bouquet of red roses, guys. They’re very pretty and all, even if they are all dead within a week, less if you decide to get the day-after-Valentine’s-Day special at Kroger (um, yeah, I’ve gotten those). There is something admittedly symbolic and decadent about that particular standby gift, if you even bother to get it, which a surprising number of long-term significant others don’t. Some of them don’t even bring chocolate. And if you aren’t smart enough to know there is some consolation for a girl in chocolate, you have no business dating or being married.

You see, we dread this holiday because we resent the fact that it’s so darn easy for the guys. Unfairly so. Order the roses from the florist and maybe add in some artisan chocolates too boot. Bam. You’re done.

Meanwhile, we’ve been sweating bullets for at least a month in advance, scouring all the “what to buy your guy for V-Day web sites,” floored in some way that a silver whiskey flask or a progressive alarm clock are considered romantic gifts…or something he’d even want. How many times does he hit the snooze button in the morning anyway? And would a progressive alarm clock change that for him? And do you really see him standing there pouring his favorite malt into the tiny hole in the top of that flask? That’s the kind of OCD stuff high maintenance women engage in…minus the flask. They’re trying to figure out how not to spill that French martini in the perfectly lovely (but top-heavy) glass they just bought for it.

But where, ladies, is the all-purpose V-Day gift for guys??? Where is our dozen red roses and a box of chocolates equivalent?

I’m fearful it doesn’t exist because, being the research-intensive journalist that I am, I’ve been doing some homework on this subject at the behest of female acquaintances. Now, I haven’t done anything quite on the scale of the Gallup poll (But who answers those surveys anyway? That’s right—little old ladies with too much time on their hands—not exactly an accurate cross-section of America), but I have been polling. And the unfortunate reality is that no two women seem to have the same answer, and most of them have about a dozen “this gift might be a good one if you can afford it” suggestions that don’t even begin to offer the ease and convenience of red roses.

The first person to whom I turned my polling was my oldest and dearest friend Sarah. I knew given the fact that she is married to a chef who has a number of high level hobbies we women don’t understand (like duck hunting and motorcycling…or something along those lines) that she would have to have some good suggestions. This woman has been through the gift giving ringer. As I recall, her husband once requested a very special duck hunting backpack, the only kind of duck hunting backpack with which he could properly engage in the sport, that cost a mere $180 bucks. (And they wonder why we have to buy our purses at TJ Maxx.)

Her top all-purpose male V-Day gift suggestion was a pair of Bose Noise Cancelling Headphones. “Men adore these damn things,” she told me, “probably because they can’t hear their wives bitching at them while they’re wearing them.” A mere $300, ladies, to enable your S.O. to do what he already does so well—ignore you.

Another female friend I posed the “all-purpose male V-Day gift” question to pursed her lips, shook her head, and then said, “Food and sex. Those are the only things I can think of.”

But that’s better perhaps than what fellow contributor Susannah offered up, which was “Do we still exchange gifts after 13 years of marriage?” She never really answered the question exactly, but I’m guessing it was likely “no” after the tirade she gave me on men and flowers.

She did provide one likely suggestion though: “How about I don’t criticize him for 24 hours?” A nice intangible gift that keeps on giving…at least for a day. It would probably outlast a box of chocolates now that I think about it.

But still, I’ve not come any closer to fulfilling my quest. Suggestions of super light kayak paddles, ATV outings, and super-duper hiking boots abound. But we all know, as we’ve all been there, that we’ll purchase the wrong thing no matter how much research we engage in. I tried for years to comprehend my former spouse’s hobbies in an effort to give the perfect gifts. I’m pretty sure I failed every time. I finally just gave up and stuck gift cards to Advance Auto and Bass Pro Shops in his Valentines. Not much thought going into that, but then exactly how much thought is going into the roses? That’s if you even get roses…or a card. I’ve gone plenty of years without either.

So maybe it is back to the old standby. No, not the Victoria’s Secret gift card for him (though it will do in a pinch). I’m talking sex. As a friend of mine said with a shrug, “Sex is easy, but it’s always well-received. I never get any complaints, and it’s the gift that gives back.”

Maybe so. Some guys will do the laundry for it. A few will even mow the grass.

And heck, don’t we have enough to worry about without having to come up with a V-Day gift he won’t return the very next day or stuff into his closet behind all those shirts you’ve given him over the years that really bring out his eyes but which he says are far too feminine? (And since when is forest green a feminine color?)

But you know, there is some small and wicked part of me that just once would like to see men go through the retail gymnastics that we do for them. How do they get off so easy? Flowers, chocolate, a nice bottle of wine, sweet smelling lotion, a pretty necklace—and we smile and tell them how much we love their thoughtfulness. Is it thoughtful? How much thought did they put into it? And maybe we are just too darn easy to please. Um yeah, you read that correctly. Women are very easy to please in the gift giving department, at least those who’ve been around the block a few times are. We’ve decreased our expectations to the point that if a guy even remembers Valentine’s Day, much less gives us flowers, we think he’s king of the hill.

I’m not the only female though that longs to see them sweat as much as we do.

After much puzzling on this whole subject of what to buy the men in our lives, Sarah finally said we needed to start demanding more ourselves, give them a taste of what it’s like to search frantically for the gift that tells them that not only do we love them but we understand them, we get them.

Do they do this for us?

And then inspiration hit Sarah like a bolt of lightning from above, as she came up with a scenario for the women blighted by too much painstaking shopping at Brooktone and Cabella’s to try in an effort to give the men in our lives a taste of what we go through for love of them:

Do you have an iPod? I think you should ask for an engraved one and ask him to make you a playlist that best reflects you and your relationship. Actually, get him to make several playlists that symbolize your time together…. Now that will get him thinking! And doing something besides buying roses or chocolate…

Although I think you should ask for Shari’s Berries, too….

Six Rules for Dating Your Wife…And Why You’re an Idiot If You’re Not

I loved both of Deborah Huso’s posts on rules for dating: “Nine Rules of Dating for Clueless Men” and “Information Control and Perception Management: 9 More Rules of Dating for Really Clueless Men.”  I’ve been married almost 24 years, so her posts make me chuckle and cringe at the same time. Sometimes I’m very happy NOT to be “dating.” And to tell you the truth, I was never much of a dater.

But Deborah’s posts take me back to some of the jerks I did date…or almost dated. One guy hounded our mutual friends for my number, and when I finally said I’d go to a party with him, along with some of our other friends, we all went and then he ignored me most of the night, talking with another woman who was at the party. Then he didn’t understand why I wanted to go home. NOW.

Another jerk whose mom was a friend of my mom wanted to take me out. I thought the date went fine—but I was on the fence as to whether or not I’d go out again with him, and he was being persistent. But then his mom told my mom how intrigued he was with me because I didn’t sleep with him on the first date. That was a first for him.  Ewww. And really? That’s why he was intrigued with me?

Ah yes, men can be clueless.

But it’s not just single guys—married guys, even after they’ve passed the dating bar—can be pretty clueless as well, especially about dating. (If you’re a married guy reading this and thinking “Dating? We married. We don’t go out on dates anymore,” there’s your first clue that you are, indeed, clueless.) Yes, even if you are married, you should attempt to date.

Here are some tips (Very important disclaimer: My own husband is not guilty of any of these clueless behaviors in husbands. Just in case you are reading, honey.):

1. Do take your wife out on a date from time to time. Even if you enjoy the company of your children on outings, it’s so important that you spend time together alone and outside of the house. This is really a no-brainer. But it’s so easy to forget during the craziness of life. Don’t bitch and moan about the money you’d rather not spend. That’s not a good way to start the night.
2. Remember your manners. Just because you are married doesn’t mean you get away with not opening doors. It also doesn’t give you carte blanche to pick your nose, burp, and fart in public.
3. Make an effort in the clothing department. Your clothes should be clean and wrinkle- free. Don’t blame your wife if they are not. (After all you are a big boy and should know how to tend to these things yourself.) Also, NEVER wear sweatpants outside of the house unless you’re going to the gym or hospital.  And please make certain your stomach doesn’t show between your shirt and your pants. I personally have seen married men in public with stomach skin hanging out and over their pants. I don’t like it, and chances are your wife doesn’t either, so cover the gut. (And, as Deborah said, skip jean shorts, pleated pants, and tighty-whiteys, too.)
4. Talk with her about something other than the kids, your job, or yourself. Be interested in what’s she’s doing with herself. Married folks sometimes forget what fascinating people they’ve married.
5. Let her know what you like in bed. So Deborah mentions that one shouldn’t discuss one’s BDSM proclivities on date one.  Agreed.  But if you’ve been married awhile and haven’t let your wife know that you’d like a little nipple-twisting, now is the time. But then again, if you have twisted her nipples (or anything else) and she’s told you to back-off, she probably means it. No reason to ruin a night out—so just don’t “go there.”
6. Please DO make a move for sex on your date. Speaking for many married women, everywhere, there simply aren’t enough “moves” in our lives. There are plenty of other places you can have sex if you can’t do it at home because of the kids—how about the car or van? How about getting a hotel room for a few hours? Hmmm?

Married guys are pretty lucky. After all, they know their dates will be going home with them for the night. Don’t kill the advantage you already have by overlooking these simple steps for getting her to do more than sleep in bed with you….

Information Control and Perception Management: 9 More Rules of Dating for Really Clueless Men

I am writing this post at the behest of numerous girlfriends (and a couple of guys, too, believe it or not) who have indicated my “Nine Rules of Dating for Clueless Men” post needs an upgrade—a serious upgrade. As one of my close girlfriend’s boyfriend put it, “Dating is all about information control and perception management.”

Understand that I am not advocating “game playing.” Rather, I’m cautioning you to remember that first impressions are hard to undo. Very few women will give you a second chance if you roundly screw up on date number one. And pretty much every single one will bail if you continue to screw up on date number two.  Because then your understandable anxiousness at meeting a new person is no longer an excuse. If you’re still acting like an idiot on date number two, you probably are an idiot and need to take up rock climbing or something instead of playing Nintendo all weekend and expecting it to improve your social skills. Read on….

1.  Jean shorts and pleated pants are a no-no. And honestly, this is probably the case for women, too, though I’m still trying to convince a girlfriend of mine that I really can pull off Daisy Dukes.  Seriously, there is no man on the planet who looks good in jean shorts (and if you’re wearing jeans, please make sure they are fitted—you are not going to entice any woman to your bed if you’re wearing baggy jeans). And with regard to pleated pants…honey, they make you look fat. Unless you are seriously skinny, you cannot pull them off…or should I say on?
2. Toss the tighty whiteys. If I need to explain why, you probably need to invest some time reading fellow contributor Susannah Herrada’s post, “Sex, Suitcases, and Tighty-Whiteys.” Seriously, your date’s only experience of tighty-whiteys is likely seeing them in her dad’s laundry basket in the 1980s.
3. No serenading without an invitation, please. I don’t care if you can croon on the scale of Luther Vandross. Do not trap your date in a car in a parking garage and serenade her to the radio if she hasn’t requested firsthand experience of your vocal abilities. It’s awkward, and if she’s polite enough not to bolt at that very moment and make a mad dash for her car, I promise you, she’ll be spending the rest of the evening trying to figure out how to ditch you without traumatizing your ego. If you play guitar, you can get away with a little more, but still NOT on date one, or two, or three.
4. Do what you say you’re going to do when you say you’re going to do it. Pick her up on time. If you say you’re going to call, then do it. If you make plans with her, keep them. This is just basic respect. And if you don’t respect her enough to do the basics, you don’t respect her enough to be dating her. And if you fail on the basics persistently, any woman worth her salt is going to dump you anyway.
5. Save your BDSM proclivities for later…much later. Trust me, you will never have the level of intimacy on a first date that is necessary to make it anything but unacceptable to slide your hand up under your date’s blouse and twist her nipple. As a girlfriend of mine put it, “This is not a radio dial. Twisting it to the right is not going to increase reception.” Or get you another date….
6. Don’t regale your date with endless stories about your ex. First, it’s just not polite. And second, it makes it look like you’re still pretty invested in all that baggage you’ve got strapped to your left ankle. As a male friend of mine puts it, “The only time I ever talk to a girl about my exes is when I’m about to have her join their number.” (Note: this rule does not apply once you’re in a long-term, committed relationship and you are into deep sharing mode—but deep sharing falls under the “information control” tab in the initial stages of dating.)
7. If you have Facebook pages for your cats, you shouldn’t even be dating. Enough said.
8. Do not ever tell your date, “You look really good for your age.”  You may think this is a compliment, but it’s not. If you think your 35-year-old date looks like she’s 29, then say, “You look like you’re 29.” It’s all about semantics, gentleman.  Learn how to use them.
9. If your date has bigger balls than you do, it’s time to reassess whether you should be dating at all. Strong and confident women like strong and confident men. If you aren’t brave enough to be yourself, disagree politely when you think she’s off-base, and stand up for yourself or for her when it’s called for, you should probably go back to building Facebook pages for your cats….

What I’ve Learned From Loving (and Dating) Men With Baggage

Before I get called out for my blog post title here, let me make an acknowledgement: I’m a hot mess. Not a hot mess on the scale of Rihanna, for example. That’s blazing hot mess. I’m more like a just above luke warm hot mess…on an average day anyway.

Thus, you won’t find me judging men who are hot messes, but I will comment, particularly since men are so darn fond of denial. The first time I ever told a man he was a hot mess, he gave me that famous deer in the headlights look, chuckled a bit, and became thoughtful for a very long time. Uh-huh. Wheels turning. Maybe I AM a hot mess, he was thinking.

Of course, he is! As my friend Sarah points out, “Let’s face it: at our age, there’s gonna be baggage. No way to avoid it.”

So dating and falling in love in one’s 30s and 40s is not about avoiding baggage. It’s more about deciding how much baggage you’re willing to take on…in addition to your own, of course.

“My preference is a carry-on bag,” Sarah says. “I’ll let a man have that one for free. But if he’s got extra baggage, I think there should be a handling fee, just like the airlines.”

I couldn’t agree more, particularly since I’ve had the foolhardy experience of falling in love with men dragging steamer trunks.

The worst part is if you’ve got someone traveling with a steamer trunk, you often don’t know it. That’s because, in this day and age, they disguise the trunk as a cocktail table or other piece of interior decor—an antique conversation piece that they claim is empty. It’s just there to enhance the eclectic design of the room.

Um, no shit.

Maybe steamer trunk is the wrong word. More like Pandora’s box…because women being women, we rarely give up hope entirely. And because we’re naturally more curious than men about the contents of personal baggage, we open the steamer trunks, find them bursting with paraphernalia, but by the time we shut them in a desperate act of regret, it’s too late. The guy’s shit has flown the coop and, more often than not, squarely landed in our laps. (You might want to refer to my post “Emotional Diarrhea” for more on how that feels.)

For better or worse, the two longest term romantic relationships of my life have been with men dragging steamer trunks. The first one at least acknowledged on occasion that there was something in the trunk: twice divorced parents, childhood emotional neglect, parental brutality, etc.

The second one, however, was always sitting on the trunk, legs crossed, looking smug. He was so good at hiding his baggage that he actually convinced me for a time that I was the one with excess checked luggage plus a rather weighty carry-on. (And I will admit, I always overstuff my carry-on. I hate baggage fees.)

One day, however, I gave him a hard nudge, knocked him off his “decorative” steamer trunk, unlocked it, and lifted the lid wide open. I got hit hard with more dirty laundry than I’d ever seen in my life. Fortunately, by that point in my life, I’d learned what to do with clothes where you just cannot get the stains out no matter how hard you try: throw them out and update your wardrobe.

The interesting thing about this last experience of loving a man with excess luggage, however, was that he seemed even more shocked by the contents of his steamer trunk than I was. (I gather he had probably not unpacked it in a long time.)

And right now, I cannot help but wonder if he’s actually trying to launder and repair all those old musty shirts and slacks and torn up underwear or if he’s just locked them all back up in the trunk again and thrown away the key…hopeful that the next woman won’t be smart enough to find it or will at least believe him when he says he’s cleaned up his act…ahem, I mean baggage.

In the meantime, I’m quietly lugging my own overstuffed carry-on. It’s on roller wheels. (It became too heavy to carry via shoulder strap years ago.) I always worry I might have to unzip it and share some small tidbit of the past with another passenger on this trip called life, and that scares me a little because, once opened, my overstuffed bag, is hard to get shut again. Sometimes I have to sit on it. And, even then, the seams threaten to burst.

Which is probably why another friend of mine and fellow contributor, Susannah, is quick to point out the other reason one should never settle for a man with more than a carry-on bag. “After all, you want him to have a free hand to help you with your luggage, too….”

Resisting the Beast Is Hard: First You Have to Acknowledge There Is One

My daughters with Princess Belle

When my daughters were small, we’d play the princess game.  I’d make up little quizzes about each Disney princess and they would guess which princess belonged with which trait. I also played this game with Goddesses—but that’s another story.

I always told them that Belle from Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast” was my favorite for two reasons—she loves books and she sees the beast for who he really is. And hey, it worked out for Belle, didn’t it?

I think a lot about myth, story, and fairytale. My girls and I never miss an episode of “Once Upon A Time,” which is a modern-day mash-up of fairy tales. I also loved the “Beauty and the Beast” show that was popular in the 1980s. The “beast” lives beneath the streets of New York City in this fabulous underground space full of books and antiques. So romantic. He was another beast that had that softness underneath him.

I love that kind of man—sort of rough and bristly on the outside, but a real sweetheart underneath. Part of the deliciousness of a relationship with this kind of man is that very few people know him like you do. My own husband is kind of like this. There’s something about a man who is confident, in-charge, and knows what he wants—and feels good about taking it.

But the danger in falling for a beast type, of course, is that sometimes a beast is just a beast.

Which leads to the arduous trial of trying to separate the real beasts from the crusty on the outside but soft on the inside ones.

So much of that can mean years of sorting through our own personal mythologies where we tell ourselves things like “boys will be boys,” (or Goddess forbid) “If I give him one more chance, I know he won’t drink/cheat/hit me again.”  These are the kinds of beasts that deserve no second glimpses. Maybe someday he will change, but probably not, and who has time  for that crap?

Move on, sister.

On the other hand, a cool part of the story is that Belle overlooks the beast’s horrific face to see him for who he is. And this is a great lesson. I can point out several men that I’ve been attracted to immediately; then they start talking and reveal they are sexist or stupid, and suddenly the attraction is gone. I’ve had it work the other way, too, where an attraction grows as I get to know someone. This is definitely, for me, the best way.

So as the mother of two daughters who love story, I use the “Beauty and the Beast” story sometimes in my parenting. My oldest daughter is almost fifteen, and she flits from crush to crush and boy to boy. But every once in awhile, a boy comes along that she falls hard for—and most of the time, he’s more of the “beast” variety.

For example, her current crush is a high school senior. (She is a freshmen.) One minute he seems to be leading her on, the next minute he acts like a jerk. Of course, I took the opportunity to point out that, first of all, he’s too old for her. Secondly, whether he really likes her or not is not her problem. You judge people on how they treat you. Period. Okay, he’s basically a kid and maybe a bit confused himself. I get that. But his confusion is not my daughter’s problem. She needs to believe that.

I also took the opportunity to point out that he may be very cute on the outside, but may be a beast on the inside. It’s so hard to see people for who they really are. In truth, I still struggle with this in my own life. I wish I could see my own friends, colleagues and so on as clearly as I can see hers. The cute guy on the outside really will do nobody any good if the inside is beastly.

Sounds very simple doesn’t it? But the truth of the matter is we are emotional creatures, responding to attractions on base levels at times. I’ve made those mistakes where I don’t listen to the voice in my head, but instead I follow the more fun lusty voice that made me feel sexy, even for just one night. Or two. Hell, maybe even more than a few years. “He’s not really as bad as he seems.” Or “I will be the one who can save him.” It never led me to a good place.

I’m not exactly Belle, who ended up living in a castle with a prince—most of us are not. And while I find myself wanting to sharpen my swords and cut down the beasts in my daughter’s lives, I know it’s futile. They will each have to find their own way, learn their own lessons of the heart and body. I can advise, but mostly, I will have to watch from the sidelines, open mind, open heart, open arms.

But I’ll keep my swords nice and sharp—albeit tucked behind my back. You never know when there might be a real beast to take down.