A woman friend of mine recently took up the game of squash which, for you workout buffs out there, claims to burn more calories per hour than any other sport. After she played a match recently, I asked her how it went.
Turning 40 means many things: wisdom that comes with age (so I’ve heard), no longer feeling silly about using Retin-A, not being able to mock Big Sis for being so much older than me…
Turning 40 also means being initiated into the yearly mammogram. There is nothing like sitting in a room full of nervous women in hospital gowns (all trying not to act nervous) to make one really want a cocktail.
Why hasn’t anyone invented a mammogram/martini party yet?
I don’t ever remember contemplating my mortality as I did this morning, looking around at the not totally unpleasant waiting room (yezzzzzz, very zen-like, no doubt done by decorators equipped with the Feng Shui), waiting for my name to be called. Something about stepping into the unknown, thinking everything is fine at that moment but realizing one quick snapshot could upend my life?!?!?!
There is feeling of community in the waiting room, knowing each of us are there for the same thing. Different ages, races and sizes, but all with the same question in mind. Will they find something? Will I be the one for whom everyone wears the pink ribbon?
The actual process was a letdown. All that nervousness for 10 minutes of pulling and prying my flappy small breasts into the machine to be smooshed, only to see a picture that means no more to me than an inkblot. Then I find out I have to suffer through 4 weeks of waiting to see whether the breast gods deem me lump-less…ugh.
Now where’s my birthday cake??
A new study from scientists in Britain and Germany suggests that men who are “flamboyant” dancers attract women best.
Flamboyant? How do you mean, exactly? John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever (replete with white polyester leisure suit)? Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing (did we ever establish what the age of consent was wherever that little camp was?). Elaine in the fateful Seinfeld episode?
No, no, no, a thousand times no.
Sometimes I wish for a Bailout Plan of my own. Kind of like the government version for Wall Street. But at what price do we value our freedom?
A frequent reader of The Dude’s wisdom asks, “Why does a guy think it is ok not to own a blazer at age 35?”
I might reframe the question: “Why would a woman hang out with a guy who thinks it’s ok not to own a blazer at age 35?”
A man will cling longingly to his favorite pair of old jeans, his college intramural championship t-shirt, his old hockey jersey, and a handful of other things. You MUST respect his need to own these. For him to wear these is for him to remind himself of his youthful virility, which may be flagging, but you are ill-advised to remind him of that.
But I digress.
An adult male worthy of female companionship, regardless of his profession (investment banker, school teacher, sanitation engineer, professional athlete) MUST own at least one decent suit, one decent pair of pants (which is to say, a pair that requires professional laundering, not blue jeans) and, yes, gentle reader, at least one blazer. If it’s just one, it’s probably blue, which is fine. He should have at least one tasteful silk four-in-hand necktie that can go with either the suit or the blazer.
Moreover, he should know when it is appropriate to wear these items of clothing, and he should do so without protest, partially because it makes him look like an adult, partially because it is a reflection of his excellent taste and judgment, and partially because failure to do so will result in the evolved woman telling him that he is an uncultured rube who isn’t going to get any for a while.
He should also own a black tuxedo with a black bow tie that he can tie himself, in part because it is a sign of his elan, but mostly because the James-Bond-untied-bow-tie-look late in the evening rivals Bryan Ferry and Seal CDs for encouraging a woman to part with her clothing.
The only exception to the guidelines above relate to rugby clothes, which, after being worn in a legitimate rugby game, are appropriate attire for any occasion.
we couldn’t resist, love the ad…..
Women’s welding team goes up against the big boys.