Plucked, concealed, lined, gelled, glossed, styled and approved by my gay husband, I left for Grand Central Station to meet Marathon Man. I already knew I liked what the cross-country running investment banker had to say online, so now it was time to see if we had any chemistry in person.
I was delighted to find he showed up(!), was slightly taller than me(!), and planned quite a lovely evening. We were to start with drinks at Pegu Club, (a fabulous mixology lounge on West Houston); and continue onto a posh Asian speakeasy named Angel’s Share. Tasty drinks, amazing food, and wonderful company---what more could a girl ask for?
Well… I’ll tell ya…
The first thing that struck me about Marathon Man was how young he looked. His baby, shaved face combined with his slight stature and slender running body made him look all of seventeen. This contributed to one experience that left me feeling like a “Daddy’s Girl” more than I ever have in my life.
The bar stool to my left seemed to be the drunk seat. The first man who sat there actually fell asleep, covering the bar in his long Asian hair and drool. He began to tilt in my direction like a chopped tree, but luckily I was saved… by the bartender. Noticing the apparent intoxication of my woozy next-door neighbor, the servers propped him up and removed him before he could topple into me.
Relieved that Drunky was gone, Marathon Man and I had a chuckle and continued on with our great conversation. That was until a belligerent, incoherently mumbling man replaced him.
“Is everyone in here just like me…” he slurred “Fuckin… white and Jewish?” It appeared the man was addressing this question to me, and he kept repeating himself until I answered.
“Um… I don’t know sir. I didn’t take inventory.”
“Well maybe you fuckin’ should!” he shot back. Suddenly, the sleepy Asian wasn’t looking so bad.
Surprised, I turned to face my date and… nothing! No offer to switch seats, no male bravado, no instinct to protect whatsoever. I slowly began to realize that though Marathon Man is wonderful, he could probably never protect me in a volatile situation.
Now---don’t get me wrong, I’m not writing this guy off. But there’s a small part of me that wants someone broad-shouldered; someone take-charge; someone… well, like my Dad.
My Dad is the kind of man who leaps out of bed when he hears a noise in the house. My Dad is the kind of man who would throw himself in front of a gigantic, drugged-up delinquent to keep him from coming onto our property. My Dad is the kind of man who intervenes when he sees a drunk 42-year-old hitting on me at a party. He is not the kind of man who would sit passively as an intoxicated patron cussed at me.
No, I did not want Marathon Man to get into a fight; and no, I did not want him to make a scene; but perhaps a small acknowledgement of what had transpired might have been nice.
Overall however, I’m nit-picking. The date was [easily] the best I’ve had with an Internet prospect and I do plan on going to a jazz club with him next week. We have a ton in common and I’m willing to see if more sparks fly next time around.
But one question still nags me... Do all women want a broad, protective man who will make them feel as safe as their Daddies do? And if so, will Marathon Man fit the bill?