2008 Woodie Awards
The Cosmopolitan: The Married Guy
Leah Charpentier
Issue date: 10/26/07 Section: Editorial/Opinion
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10/26/07 - Craig and I were on our way to our third date: clam cakes and chowder for lunch followed by an afternoon at the beach. He was cute, a bit older, had spent some time traveling with the Navy, and he could cook and speak Italian. I really liked him. I knew he lived alone in Newport, and so, after a mild flirtation via e-mail for a couple months while I was out of the country, I accepted his invitation for lunch. Two chatty and happy meals later, we were flying down Green End Avenue in his little blue car when he said it.
"Does the fact that I'm married bother you?"
I laughed loudly, smacking him on the shoulder. I was still cracking up when I noticed that he was still…not laughing.
"What, you're serious?"
"Well, she's gay and we haven't lived together in years, but yeah, I'm serious. Is that a problem?"
As my eyes bulged and I lost my appetite, I had a thought. Where did I keep finding these guys? It felt like there was always something; a tiny penis, a mother from hell, religious zealousness, even foreskin that always seemed to ruin a perfectly good day at the beach. But a wife?
I've said this in columns of yore, and I will say it again; I am a marrying girl. I have always been this way, and my beau having a wife generally impedes these plans and thus, is essentially useless.
On the broader scale, this is one of those moments where a girl has to decide what kind of a woman she is - the main squeeze or the side dish. More still, is she a girl's girl, or is she a backstabbing sister? I think the answers depend on your degree of self-worth. If I could settle for being someone's side dish, I think I'd want several side dishes, don't you think? Like a high-end buffet, or a champagne brunch, I'd want some damn variety if I have to sacrifice commitment. But I like commitment, so I just don't see that working: main squeeze is a good role for me.
As far as what kind of a girl am I? I know the universe may never pay me back for this one, but, gay or not, I was eating lunch with someone's husband. Call it a sense of disgust upon entering a particularly smelly Savers, or just the thrill of antiquing gone awry, but he was owned. I wouldn't break into another woman's home and steal her damn candlesticks, so what was I doing with her man?
After that, I knew I couldn't stay with him. We saw each other on a friend basis for a week or two after that before I stopped returning his calls about his "impending divorce." Nice guy, but let's be real here, I can do a lot better than some other chick's husband.
Questions? Ideas? Rants? E-mail me folks! Cosmopolitan_withlime@yahoo.com
"Does the fact that I'm married bother you?"
I laughed loudly, smacking him on the shoulder. I was still cracking up when I noticed that he was still…not laughing.
"What, you're serious?"
"Well, she's gay and we haven't lived together in years, but yeah, I'm serious. Is that a problem?"
As my eyes bulged and I lost my appetite, I had a thought. Where did I keep finding these guys? It felt like there was always something; a tiny penis, a mother from hell, religious zealousness, even foreskin that always seemed to ruin a perfectly good day at the beach. But a wife?
I've said this in columns of yore, and I will say it again; I am a marrying girl. I have always been this way, and my beau having a wife generally impedes these plans and thus, is essentially useless.
On the broader scale, this is one of those moments where a girl has to decide what kind of a woman she is - the main squeeze or the side dish. More still, is she a girl's girl, or is she a backstabbing sister? I think the answers depend on your degree of self-worth. If I could settle for being someone's side dish, I think I'd want several side dishes, don't you think? Like a high-end buffet, or a champagne brunch, I'd want some damn variety if I have to sacrifice commitment. But I like commitment, so I just don't see that working: main squeeze is a good role for me.
As far as what kind of a girl am I? I know the universe may never pay me back for this one, but, gay or not, I was eating lunch with someone's husband. Call it a sense of disgust upon entering a particularly smelly Savers, or just the thrill of antiquing gone awry, but he was owned. I wouldn't break into another woman's home and steal her damn candlesticks, so what was I doing with her man?
After that, I knew I couldn't stay with him. We saw each other on a friend basis for a week or two after that before I stopped returning his calls about his "impending divorce." Nice guy, but let's be real here, I can do a lot better than some other chick's husband.
Questions? Ideas? Rants? E-mail me folks! Cosmopolitan_withlime@yahoo.com