We’ve all heard the myths about how you can really tell a lot about a guy just by the size of his shoes (I’m a size 13. I’m just saying), or his hands (I can palm a basketball…easily), or his walk (not sure about that one).
Women everywhere will swear that when it comes to their men, size doesn’t really matter. It’s really about how they’re treated and what his heart is like. It’s sort of like that whole “beauty is in the eyes of the beholder” thing.
Size doesn’t really matter right, as long as a guy treats you nicely, takes care of your every need, and generally makes you feel like… you’re special…. Right?
Case in point.
My friend Allina called me yesterday, a little upset. She had been seeing this guy, Mark, for a few months now and had given me the run-down on him nearly every week. Tall (she said 6’3” but she said the same thing about me and I’m reaching for 6’1”), very attentive, romantic, likes to read Edgar Allen Poe (dude’s treading on my territory now, but I’m not the only one who likes deep, romantic, poetry about dead loves who are buried by the sea; re: Annabell Lee), artistic, Pee Wee Football coach, runner, spoke Russian, Hebrew and Latin (okay I made that up, but you get the drift).
This dude is/was a keeper.
He even went and saw Bridesmaids with her!
What man sees that movie?
Could it be she had finally found the one?
In case you haven’t guessed, I used to have a thing for Allina. It was kind of like the whole Kevin Arnold - Winnie Cooper thing except we were both in our 20’s and we weren’t living in Middle America. We were in L.A. and though Allina was (and still is) hot, there was something about her, that always kept me from going beyond our friendship.
But back to the call.
“Mark is a joke, Dimitri.”
“He didn’t get the reservation.”
“For dinner Friday.”
“That’s no big deal. The place is packed on Fridays and you need to get your reservation weeks if not months in advance.”
“He didn’t even try.”
“What do you mean?”
“He said he couldn’t afford it.”
Allina was silent. I was quiet. This particular Beverly Hills establishment is known for great steaks and wonderful drinks, and generally outrageous tabs to go along with everything else. I’ve been twice and both times I’ve left feeling dirty and used, like someone had just shook me down.
Tom Cruise would probably look at his bill twice and wonder who was putting in on this thing, let alone some guy named Mark who was a…
“What was it that Mark does anyway?”
“He’s a manager.”
Call me crazy, but managers generally manage something; whether it’s McDonald’s, a gym, an apartment complex, the bathroom, the Laundromat… something.
Allina didn’t offer up where or what he managed. Perhaps he didn’t tell her. Maybe she was too embarrassed to say. Either way whatever it was it didn’t pay him enough to treat her to this place she had been dying to go to. And she wasn’t happy about it.
“I can’t be with him.”
What? Wasn’t this the same guy who walked on water last week, and cooked her breakfast for dinner (she’s weird like that). Wasn’t this the guy who sat through two hours of Bridesmaids and didn’t look at his cellphone once or go hit the head? (I only know because she told me. I wouldn’t have followed them to the Loews in Santa Monica and sat three rows behind them, through that freaking movie, just to see what they were doing).
He was Mr. Perfect. Now it’s over?
You can call Allina shallow, trifling, sorry or whatever, but the truth is she’s not alone. She may have been slightly extreme in her actions, but this story has been played out many times before.
When I hung up with her, I really started thinking about most of my other female friends and male friends for that matter. I hear the women say how if a man treats them nicely and does the simple things for them, nothing else matters. Not shoe size, hand-size, hat size, gait size, or wallet size….
Wait. Who said anything about wallet size not mattering?
Does it really matter how much money a wonderful guy has or doesn’t have? He holds your hand in public; opens the door for you, walks on the outside on the sidewalk. So who cares that he’s broke? Okay maybe broke is a tough pill to swallow, but let’s just say he’s financially challenged or underemployed.
Think about this. Would you rather be rich with everything you could possibly want with a husband, boyfriend or partner, who doesn’t know your birthday, nor your dress size, nor your favorite foods, and doesn’t really care to know either, and he could care less about ordering your dinner first or opening your straw or pouring your drink before his; or would you choose to be poor with a loving, adoring mate who can only afford to take you out to eat once a year, but makes you feel like every day is special.
Before you answer, I want you to truly consider this. No one’s going to know what you’re really thinking. The truth police aren’t going to come knocking on your door and arrest you for lying. I asked Allina the same question and she told me I was being dramatic.
I was being dramatic? She broke up with a guy over a missed dinner and I was being dramatic. She tried to explain that if he hadn’t given her the impression that he had money she would’ve never asked to go to the place. She went on about being honest upfront and this incident just shows what kind of person he truly is.
I’m yelling bullshit on that one.
He was a good guy (I’m still not sure how he sat through that movie. I left four times).
For Allina the truth is size definitely matters, but what about you?