Today’s specimen was brought to me by a friend who shall remain nameless to protect the innocent. Her story all began with a tall, dark, and handsome, a twinkle in his eye, and a little help from his friends- “Aston,” and “Martin.”
Now this guy could not have looked better on paper if he tried (and believe me he tried all the time). Harvard educated, law degree, heir to wealthy family, well-connected socially, smooth, athletic, and did I mention- tall, dark, and handsome?
My friend was absolutely smitten with her OOA (object of affection). She would grin from ear to ear when speaking his name and had a magnificent ability to tenuously link all conversation topics back to said OOA. However, the more she began to be around him, the less she became interested.
She would find herself primping to the nines to go and see him, only to later feel deflated and disappointed when returning home. Like a heroin addict, trying to reach that first high, she tenaciously went back for more, trying to regain some part of what she felt that first day. Yet there was nothing there.
This, my friends, is The Cotton Candy Man. He looks all puffed up with his sugary sweet credentials, shaggy/carefree locks framing his sun-kissed face perched atop a chiseled and towering body. The impressive size of his hands only trumped by the size of his Harvard CV. Yet, this man has not been forced to develop any form of internal structure. Like a snail, whose hard outer covering allows them to be a slimy glob of nothingness on the inside- this man has not had a need to be funny, caring, considerate, charming, genuine, or even clever. The more my friend began to lick the surface, the less there was.
Dude Diagnosis- The Cotton Candy Man
Patient Presentation- This man often comes in a sugar encrusted coating which includes trust funds, social status, obscure athletic endeavors such as equestrian training, polo sports, and croquet. He wears collared shirts with various types of animals embroidered on the right chest, and his fingernails are always neatly manicured. He drives the type of car that the valet always leaves at the front of the building and transitions from one sentence to the next with the ease of a sommelier touting wine pairings. Yet, something is amiss and you can’t put your finger on it. As soon as you do- the candy cloud disappears to nothing.
Prognosis and Rx- This candy coated cad will eventually meet a cotton candy lady in her J Crew tennis sweater, ever so daintily wrapped around her pin-thin shoulders, hair neatly pulled in an unassuming pony-tail, make-up less (because the fraxel/botox treatments have paid off). They will ever so politely exchange their Ivy-League creds over a bottle of Pinot, their tenuous social links, and how Jorge makes the best smoothies at the tennis club. They will eventually tie the knot in their protestant led wedding, soon discover the other one has absolutely nothing to offer, and begin searching for the meat and potatoes through their respective secretaries and pool boys.
