MEN.......What's not to love?
Saturday afternoons often unleash the beast and I become recklessly self-indulgent. Here goes! It is fair to post the disclaimer right at the beginning. I don’t know who is writing this? Although I recognize my fingers on the keyboard, it does not mean the rest of me is present. Things like sound judgment and of course discretion could be missing, but then as I mentioned ,it is Saturday, and anything could happen.
I love Men. My best friends are men. Although there have been some epic women in my life, but it is men whom I trust, rely upon and whose company I prefer. Ouch! The ladies falter as often they display two thoroughly worthless emotions. One is the green eyed monster aka ‘Jealousy’ and the other is relentless ‘competition’ with another woman. That’s when the much touted sisterhood goes down the drain.
The men who have brushed my life do not possess these qualities. They are rock stars brimming with gallantry, generosity, originality and best of all charm. Charm makes the world go round. Or as my awesome mother would say “charm can take you everywhere”.
I often find that when I thank a man or compliment him he smiles from ear to ear.
‘A thorough gentleman’ i say to the muscle bound Adonis at my gym who helps me by securing the pull bar at the lateral weight machine. Not only does he clip it but gives a trial pull to make sure it is secure. My thanks and comment make him unfurl like a glorious peony. I could swear his chest expands by a few inches and his eyes get that baffled, shy but thoroughly pleased expression. It is a perfect exchange and one that does more for the environment then a recyclable grocery bag.
Naturally, all perfect species are also inhabited by a few scoundrels. I managed to pick one up, crossed a continent to create a life with him. He was a glorious gigolo and I had no idea that I was the fifth woman on his list whom he had separated from her assets. He lied like a trooper and even performed magic tricks but despite the hazard, his mastery at the game was so inventive that a grudging admiration also lurked in my bosom. Even my literary revenge of making him a co-star in my memoir ‘Moon over Marrakech’ and sending the book to the King who ruled his country through a Diplomat and landing him in permanent hot water was marked by my speedy recovery on the shores of my own country.
There is much talk of vibes and aura but I think it is the physical energy associated with men which is tantalizing. How a man walks into his home as though the sound of his footsteps proclaim dominion bear a different message. It denotes belonging and familiarity. When my late husband died it was the sound of his footsteps which I longed to hear. The ones, I had memorized for all the messages they carried. My father had a graceful near silent gait and he simply appeared. My mother, who remained in love with him eternally, would simply murmur “ there you are” as though the universe had aligned itself perfectly.
My favoured sibling was my brother a year older than me. I was obliged to become a tomboy so I could hang out with him and his friends. Their adventures put the Hardy Boys to shame. He set the bar so high for testing my physical resilience and later teen-age delinquency that I have never shirked from excesses. After having encouraged me to climb a thirty thirty foot high almond tree dressed in my 10th birthday taffetta dress he and his friends simply abandoned me. I eventually came sliding down with the entire skirt left on the tree in shreds. When draconian punishment was handed to him and my father accused him of not taking care of his sister he mumbled,
“she is very strong and I knew she would come down herself.”
In Granada, Spain I decided to drink vintage sherry and thought the bar of the Victoria hotel was a good choice. Late at night i dumped my travelling companions and headed out alone. The only other people was a table of four middle aged men . They were curious about me as women over 45 did not go alone to bars in Grenada. They sent over a sherry and i told the bar tender to thank them but i could not accept a drink from gentlemen whom i did not know. They sprang up and sent one to invite me to join them. They were retired bull fighters and i was thrilled. There was courtly bowing and a ancient bottle of sherry wrapped in mud splattered burlap was presented at the table. With my broken Spanish and their broken English we had a rollicking time. Then a waiter brought an oil painting of one of the bull fighters to the table it was a gift for me. I was utterly charmed and removed a leather belt i wore which had a clasp of a large elephant on the front. I presented it to the man whose gift sat on the table. The evening then stretched to another three hours where we headed for a flamenco bar where men in their 70”s clapped and sang flamenco songs. I think it was the not just the 300 yr old sherry, but their instant friendship which made me dance the Bulerias( I was a rookie student) on the wooden bar stamping my leather cowboy boots. All four then escorted me to my small hotel where the night clerk’s face was wreathed in smiles when he saw my escort of four. The next morning he told me each one was a legend. Air Canada, of course let the show down. The painting mysteriously disappeared from the front cabin closet and never found again. I tired of pursuing the claim and gave up. I am certain ,though , the leather belt with the silver elephant clasp is safe somewhere in Granada
Now we are non-binary. The men we thought were men have become women. It is not cool to make comments or judgments. Blanket acceptance all the way around. I am guilty for still having wild crushes on manly men, the later and perhaps obsolete models; the ones who hold the door open for you, spring across a room to light your cigarette or scale a mountain peek, also the ones who will overcook your steak on the barbeque. They also crumple their foreheads and say “who the hell wants to barbeque vegetables?”
I would take the wild paint splatters of Jackson Pollock’s vigorous paintings over Georgia O Keefe’s flowers any day. Definitely a traitor to my gender but not ready for punishment. Women have a forgiving nature .