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May 25, 2006
nine percenter
I was 23, and Maddie and I were talking about hair loss. I told her my certain fate: like my every male relative, I too would watch my hairline recede until "my bangs" joined "my baby teeth" in the linguistic ashbin.
"But at least I won't be one of those poor bastards who lose it from the back and have a ridiculous little bald circle in the back of his head."
That's the first time I saw The Look. The pitying, tear-welling, oh-my-god-do-I-really-have-to-be-the-one-to-tell-him? look. She couldn't form words. She just handed me two mirrors and fled.
Years later, Katrina and I were discussing relationships and what we each wanted in a partner. I waxed about a woman we both knew from school. Emma was effortlessly kind, graceful, bright, hilarious, elegant, athletic, and beautiful. She had, as Katrina and I are both fond of saying about people, beams of light coming out of every pore. I never heard a soul say anything but adoring things about Emma, and I was no exception. She was and remains one of my favorite people.
"Emma. Emma is my metric," I told Katrina. "What do I want in a woman? There ya go." The Look fell over Katrina's face. She fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat, averting her eyes, searching for the exact right words. She drew a deep breath and began.
"So why...." Trailing off, she squirmed and thought some more.
"Let me put it this way: what sort of a man gets to be with the Emmas of the world?"
Man. That's some cold shit.
It's obvious. It's right. It's just not a reality I had allowed myself to consider. Emmas marry wealthy underwear-model Pulitzer-winning pianists who, rather than killing a spider, will catch-and-release them—and even make them a tiny sack lunch to go. Why? Because Emmas have their choice of men. Beyond that, because Emmas know better than to get involved in an inequitable relationship. Which is what I would be. Which is what Katrina was saying without really saying it.
Acknowledging her point, I bounced back remarkably fast. "So what I want, really, is a woman who's x percent Emma."
"Ca-righst."
"Something more equitable. Someone, like, 80% Emma."
"Oh hell no. Eighty? Are you mad? You are simply not entitled to anyone who exceeds 9% Emma. Anything more than that would be an obscenity."
Sigh.
I bet the underwear model/Pulitzer guy doesn't get The Look, either.
[Editor's note: upon reading this, Katrina denies that she ever went as high as 9%.]
posted by john at 3:58 PM • permalink