Goodnight, My Little Clown...

Rule #4790: Men, flowers can backfire. Never pull out the flowers till you know your foot is firmly in the door. It will just compound the sense of tragedy.

***

A man named HENRI wrote this note. Make of it what you will. It has its flaws, however you'll see how it got me to write back:

I'm wicked smaaaht (From Boston), cute (photo to follow) and extraordinary with my hands. I even know what puttanesca sauce consists of! I am attractive, witty, warm and kind. (I'll barge in with Rule #1: NO STATS. Don't say what you are, show what you are. Show what you are by conveying thoughts, feelings and wit through your message. Sorry. Keep reading.) I even wouldn't mind if the boy were present as I am fond of and good with children. My beer of choice would be Newcastle or Blue Moon. Women of all ages enjoy my company and you will as well. (Well done Henri! Rule #4907: Develop verbal confidence and use it to reel them in.)

The meal you have described sounds excellent (Yes Henri! You are wooing me quite effectively. Rule #3345: Flatter, flatter, flatter me. Even if you don't know me. This shows your self-confidence.) and I feel that you have experience with it and prepare it well. (Ay! I likey. So sexy!) Other than that, a nice meatloaf and a glass of Cabernet or Merlot would suffice. (Losing some ground here with the meatloaf and obviously hasn't seen "Sideways".) Why would you want me in your home? I think I answered that in the first paragraph. More to follow if necessary. The photo will come when you respond. It is too large to send through CList. I can only send it to your email address. You will not be disappointed.

By the way, Great Post! If all were so original and creative, nobody would be alone. What it your boy's name?

The race is on!

Henri

SEXYLITTLECLOWN wrote:

Hi Henri,

Anchovies are a great secret ingredient. You are in the "yes" folder. I got 70 responses. I guess Chicago is teeming with men dying to assemble lamps. Which I don't think you mentioned. You just mentioned eating my cooking. Alright, I'll respond anyway. Please send me a pic if you're so inclined.

NATHALIE

HENRI wrote:

The assembling of the lamp is a given due to the fact that it is a prerequisite to dinner. If I don't assemble, then I don't dine. You kind of have us over a barrel with this one. You look quite pretty in your photo. Attached is mine. I am confident enough that you will select me. However, if you should make the unenviable decision to invite someone else, I think that you and I should meet regardless and pursue a friendship at least. Agreed?

HENRI wrote:

By the way, I am fond of your 'sexylittleclown' handle. I've never thought of clowns as being sexy but maybe you've opened my eyes to something new. What are your nationalities? You appear to be a bit Greek/Italian??? Is Soltan a maiden name?

SEXYLITTLECLOWN wrote:

Henri,

I know you don't deserve the form letter but you might get a kick out of it anyway.

Tonight I have to write general thank you notes and so the yes folder guys are getting this form letter:

Congratulations! You're in the yes folder. You might assemble my lamp. However if you don't assemble my lamp, there is a myriad of other tasks in my home that make me long for a boyfriend - like painting the area above the tub where I can't reach, resiliconing the kitchen sink, and disk-doctoring all of my scratched cd's. I would be willing to feed a person fine meals in order to conquer these minor little irritations that stare me in the face every day. It sounds like a much more interesting way to get it done than me doing it myself.

Here's food for thought:

"I hope you don't consider this a "hate" mail message.I don't know why would you want a man who can speakcoherently if you don't seem to be bright enough toassemble an Ikea lamp, the things Ikea makes are veryeasy to assemble and the instructions are included,besides any lamp of that sort can be assembled byanyone in 5-10 minutes. I don't know why would youwant to bring a stranger into your home if the onlything you need from him is to assemble that lamp.Don't lie just be upfront say I want to meet someonefor friendship or romance or sex (at which youskillfully hinted). Lastly if you want someoneeducated you should be too, I hope it was just amechanical typing error when you wrote coherantbecause this word is correctly spelled--coherEnt. Ivan"

What do you think?

If I haven't mentioned it to you, we'll have to interview eachother in person to make sure that we don't annoy each other.

Nathalie

HENRI wrote (hillarious!) :

Well Ivan hasn't seen the ball since kick-off! It is understood, I would imagine, that you are looking for something more than a man to assemble your lamp. He didn't need to tell you what you already know. Ivan's need for an attitude adjustment was probably pointed out to him, and his parents (if he wasn't raised by wolves) somewhere in his early elementary years and for many years after. The next time Ivan gets laid, it will probably cost him $300.00 and there will be no Penne Puttanesca involved. He did, however, compliment you for your ability to "skillfully hint". He isn't so vapid after all.

On another note, I don't have any experience "disk doctoring" but you might get a better grasp of my skills by going to http://www.westsideinteriors.com. Galleria Comeau I & II is where you will be visting me sometime in the near future. This should put me head and shoulders above the rest.

If it makes any difference, you haven't annoyed me yet. You seem very forthright in a witty and playful way.

Good Night My Little Clown!

***

I should have been suspicious when Henri Comeau tried to build mountains of sweet emotion with his theatrical emails, but still being a bit of a virgin to this myself, I did not let my intuitions rightfully guide me.

First, he charmed with words, sent to website link for his design business, (which was rather home-baked) and then finally he sent a photo. I did not find him particularly attractive, nor did I find his website to be very sophisticated, but based on the sheer 100% he was putting into the effort, I decided to give him a chance. Too afraid to talk by phone for the disappointment it could hold, (I know…internet dating virgin, Rule #3487: Don't be afraid to talk by phone first. It's almost a pre-requisite.) I decided to meet him briefly…for an amount of time which I did not specify but it amounted in my mind to something like ½ hour, tops, which I could extend to 45 minutes if it were to go well.

Based on Henri’s larger-than-life writing voice and his rather long face, I was expecting to meet a man of overwhelming stature, and considering that I was meeting him next to the towering “Ode to The Beast”, I have to admit that I found the idea fairly exhilarating and even vaguely romantic.

I had gone to the bathroom of the federal building food court to shake my hair upside-down and give it extra body, and fix my face for the second time in half an hour, with my artful natural-looking make-up tricks. I rode the escalators up and down to make sure I arrived exactly on time, though I had no watch and had to go around ask people and calculate the countdown.

I went outside and sat by The Beast, crossing my legs demurely, waiting for my towering Frenchman.

Then a quite stout man with a long face and a cacophonous floral bouquet tied ostentatiously with curled purple ribbon appeared apprehensively between me and The Beast, pretending not to see me. (Also he was wearing a leather jacket. I seem to have terrible luck with this - I hate leather jackets. I'm going to have to specify that in my next ad.) It looked like he had lost heart and was going to run away, or expected me to pretend it wasn’t me, so I summoned him over and he sat down, presenting me with the merry “garden in a wrap”. I thanked him and tried like hell to erase any signs of disappointment in him, and how over compensatory I thought the bouquet was.

As we struggled for words, a bum came and stood in front of us silently. As he started to speak, Henry said, “Excuse me sir, I am on a date!” The bum did not budge. Then he said, “Sir, I have five minutes to convince this woman to accept my company, and you are interrupting!” The bum still did not make a move, but stood there bemused. I promptly suggested we take a walk (my favorite activity when I feel uncomfortable with a man,) and we walked off.

During that scenario, I did not feel tethered to the earth. I felt the emptiness of a companion who had watched too many reality shows. He was obviously suffering from Reality-Show Trauma and as he spoke I was floating further and further away from him. Then I imagined him holed-up on a Rococco sofa, nervously dashing popcorn into his jaw in front of an over-sized plasma screen with a reality show running, and memorizing what the men on those shows say, believing that in reality, it works.

We walked by the river and as I looked at it, I struggled for items of conversation that might be found in it, at one point I was actually about to ask, “What is that, an oversized dingy?” but luckily he interjected with talk about the weather. “So tell me, when will it snow?” he asked, trying to phrase the weather question as wittily Franco as possible. I turned to him and examined him one on one for the first time, and a look of great pleasure and hope crossed his countenance. Then we kept walking.

It wasn’t till I heard a weather report a few days later of impending snow that I realized he had prepped on the weather, as a conversational safety-net. It was, to say the least, depressing.

Now, I don’t consider myself any great beauty, but I know enough to know that I fix up pretty well. And as we walked under construction scaffolding, through the towering buildings, I realized that some average working citizen guys were absolutely staring at me dubiously with my bouquet a-la-spring dangling dispassionately from my hands, and suddenly I felt that we resembled a reality show…that one, where the prissy woman has to select a husband from a bunch of…socially…ill at ease…physically indistinct…males.

I tried not to pick up my pace as we neared the subway entrance, and as I stopped at the turnstiles, Henry took on this air of desperation. It's that same, sad, "the clock has ticked out on me" type of desperation that guys have in this position, and I'm not sure how to remedy that.

I hugged him and kissed him on the cheek briefly, thanking him. He said nothing, turned on heel and quickly disappeared beneath the train tracks, defeated. That, I thought, was not what I ever would have intended. I'm going to have to get more adroit so I can avoid generating these situations in the future.

As entertaining as the scenario may be, there is a wretchedness about it that leaves me feeling ashamed for both of us. There is a great sense of tragedy about being single and imperfect in a metropolis, but if it's any consolation to you...I get dissed too once in a while.