I have been feeling compelled to write about the Gillette add, but what to write? That I cried when first seeing it because I associated so much with the gross violence meted out by men against women, and others, daily? That I was saddened and a little irritated by the wholesale attack some men seemed to think it was making on all men? That infusing a ‘social justice’ issue in their commercial is just a ploy to increase sales? That it signals how broad the gap is between genders and how under fire men feel? Or maybe that men need to figure their masculinities out in ways that don’t involve shitting on women, crying about being socio-culturally assaulted, or hiding behind anxiety-ridden cloaks that seem to clothe many these days? I don’t feel like delving into that stuff though and have chosen instead to write about how weird some men are.
I’m baffled by the number of them, often but not exclusively from Brasil, who use Instagram as a dating app. I can’t imagine what they hope to achieve by connecting with someone a world away, yet they try—often late at night on weekends. I noticed some guy liking all my stories and then he asked where I work and sent emoji roses. WTF? I didn’t write back until yesterday when he asked to go for coffee, to which I replied: “I’m seeing someone” (which, friends, may in fact be true…). He said a split second later: “OMG you’re such a savage??!! I was only suggesting coffee.” I told this loser- stranger that many men hit on me on IG and I assumed that’s what was going on. I also asked him what he’d want to meet for, anyway? He said I’m an interesting person—heard that one before– “and we could be a good friends.” Ummmm….How ‘bout NO?! He’s one of these ones who doesn’t post pictures and creeps everyone else and so I said: “You can see who I am, but you have no pictures. What makes you think I’d want to meet with you, just because you find me interesting? The feeling isn’t mutual.” Damn bro. Then he sent a picture of himself at an art gallery—OMG, stop it already.
The flatulence beneath my wings is the real gem from yesterday though. A guy I met for dinner a couple weeks ago, who was featured in my last post as J (49), is the one who cut the cheese. I didn’t include that bit in the overview, I’m too nice sometimes! I also didn’t add that he was rude a few times over dinner, including lame ass mansplaining. But it was also sneaky bites like asking me if I was nodding as he was discussing a place in Northern California because I’d been there or just because. DOUCHE. I’ve traveled extensively and this lame-o who hasn’t even left North America (no offense to anyone who hasn’t left our fair continent- of course) wants to call me out on what is both polite, engaged listening + a signal of familiarity?! Then he just had to let me know that I wasn’t his first Tinder date—UM, no shit Sherlock, I mean Fartlock. There were a few other instances of weirdness, but I soldiered on and accepted his offer of a ride home, which I was surprized he extended.
I gave him a tour of my apartment and it was fine, but I picked up on a few ‘spicy’ references he made like: ‘oh, you’re luring me to your bedroom…’ EEK, not so much, it’s just part of the tour buddy. He didn’t turn me on in the least. Time for goodbye and as he bent down to tie one of his boots, he let one rip. I SCREAMED INSIDE AND VEERED DOWN THE CARPETED HALLWAY, LOOKING FOR A PLACE TO ANCHOR MY GIGGLE. I 1000% pretended like I didn’t hear it and then he had the nerve to slide one index finger down the sleeve of my sweater and say ‘this is nice.’ “Thanks, I got it in Montreal” I said briskly—time to go MF!!! Needless to say, there was little-to-no communication on my end after that vaporous evening. That’s what made the messages he sent me yesterday while I was getting my hair done all the more crazy.
It began with this: “Just wanted to check in and say that the cats, and the fact that you don’t have a car are definitely drawbacks for me. Otherwise I find you very interesting to talk to and definitely a physical attraction.” ARE YOU JOKING?! Who checks in with that shit? What did HE think I was going to say? Sorry about my cats and not having a car, but glad you think I’m hot? I was floored and set about sharing the message with my stylist and her assistant. They screamed and said I MUST come back hard on this rude farty pants, which I did: “Thanks for checking in. Dinner was ok minus the odd rude comment on your end and then there was the fart. Yes, I heard it but pretended not to. Otherwise, it was a decent time, but not one I’m eager to repeat.”
As the women at the salon predicted, he came back with a question about the rude comment BUT SAID NOTHING ABOUT THE FART!!!!!!!!!!!
“Rude comment? Oh. Odd, meaning more than one.” 1.32 pm
“Interesting that I said nothing bad about you and yet you strike back with negativity.” 1.34 pm
“Sorry it didn’t work out. I messaged you to be polite instead of the easier option of ghosting you. I wish you all the best Treena.” 1.39pm
How nuts is this? Honestly, fart aside even, that he felt that his oh-so-kind checking in with me was better than ghosting. UM, sometimes a ghost is your best friend, J. Just saying! So weird, so very weird- and both on the same day. Happily, it didn’t affect my mojo one bit and I had an extremely excellent 2nd date with a special guy last nite.
- Title credits: Kerry Fraser.
4 thoughts on ““But What About the Fart?””
WHAT a LOSER! Fart face loser.
i KNOW—thanks for doing me the favour, J!!!
THE FART THO! WHAT ABOUT THE FART!
LikeLiked by 1 person
You had me at Fartlock. And eeww on the sweater touch, the coy-boy routine is not sexy, because you are a grown man. I am impressed you kept a straight face.