#43 Flirting, Gunshot Wounds, and Other Stuff

I read something very interesting somewhere lately, can't remember where, but it stuck with me, about differences in degrees of flirting.   That if you are in a committed relationship, there's nothing wrong with looking at and appreciating beauty whenever it passes by.  And if it comes within eyelash-fluttering range, there's nothing wrong with fluttering an eyelash or two, or even engaging in a little coy conversation.  But it has to happen by chance.  When it goes over the line is when you purposely put yourself in the way of a particular other person, or when you go looking for the opportunity, or when you do it for attention, to get attention for yourself, rather than for paying attention to the other person, or especially when you imply an availability that does not exist. 

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The last building I worked in was under triple lockdown at night, so we had to have the cleaning lady in during the day, while we were still there.  The cleaning service finally had to replace her because even after several warnings, she persisted in asking us to lend her money (ah, that reminds me - another peeve - lend vs. loan).  Anyway, the last time she asked me to lend her money it was to go to North Carolina to take care of her sister's children while her sister was in the hospital.  "She's ill?"  "No, she got shot."  (Shot?! She said it so casually....) "Shot?  Drive-by?  Robbery?"  "No, she pissed off the wrong people."  She went on to say that almost everyone in her family over the age of 15 had been shot or stabbed at least once, a few fatally.  Totally blew my mind.  Very far from my culture and that of everyone else with whom I associate.  But to her, this was a normal everyday fact of life.  Sometimes you get shot.

I was reminded of her by an incident on a daytime talk show.  A woman's boyfriend was in jail, she had spent some time in jail, her son was in jail, her daughter's boyfriend was in jail, ad infinitum, and when the audience expressed disgust, she said angrily, "Look, we ain't no jail family.  Things happen.  How many of you ain't never been in jail?"  She seemed surprised and disbelieving when almost 100% of the audience raised their hands.  Again I was thinking that her life is so very far from mine - when I was brought  up short by the realization that a fair portion of my siblings have either been behind bars or were saved only by my mother's money and influence.  Oops.  Sometimes, things happen.

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There was a woman on a late night talk show - the host in fact - who said that she almost never says "I love you" to her husband.  She thought it was unnecessary to say it, "He knows how I feel", and that saying it too often dilutes it.  Today I read an advice column in which two women (both married, with children) offered their opinions. One said that people who end every phone call to their spouse or children with "I love you" are just hedging their bets - that if the other were to drop dead suddenly they could feel good that the last thing they said was "I love you".  The other woman claimed that people who say it a lot say it as a reflexive action, without feeling or meaning.  It's just a habit.

I was SHOCKED!  That's so cynical!  So cold!

I told Jay I loved him, in exactly those words ("I love you, Sweetheart" as he left the house, or "Love you, Baby Boy" in passing, or if he'd said something funny or done something cute or sweet "And you wonder why I love you?") at least five times a day, every day, maybe more.  Probably more.  Jay was the same way.  We never passed each other in the house without a big hug or a little touch.  I absolutely meant it every time.  Saying it often came naturally to Jay, and he taught me.  Friends used to say that when he and I made eye contact in public, they could see a whole silent conversation pass between us in an instant.  But really, all it was, was "I love you", practiced to perfection.

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What's with young men shaving their entire bodies?  Arms, chest, legs, back, even sometimes, ahem, "there".  It seems to be the thing to do these days.  And young women seem to expect it of them.  I've heard that teeny-boppers (Oooo did I just date myself?) prefer androgynous male singers because they find them less threatening.   Are the young men afraid to grow up?  Do the young women want their men to not look TOO male?   I can't figure it out. 

I've always preferred furry men.  I love beards.  There's a scene in "Dances with Wolves" where the native American maiden indicates to her causasian lover (in pantomime, they didn't share a language yet) that she wants him to shave his beard because it hurts her face when he kisses her.  I howled, right out loud in the theater!  No beard ever hurts your face!  Stubble hurts!  You don't ever get whisker burn from a fully grown beard!   Who the heck wrote that scene?  I can't imagine anyone getting it so wrong.  Which leads to a speculation - with these guys who shave all over, do you get full-body whisker burn? 

(My "made it up myself" joke:  "I love beards because I hate whisker burn.  ---Pause two beats---  Yeah.  It's hard to walk with whisker burn."  And then you have to turn around and walk away, so when it sinks in, you're gone.) 

After my mother's funeral, my sisters and I were at the bar in the restaurant where we all had gone for dinner, leaving the men and children downstairs.  Somehow the conversation got to man-fur, I think my younger sister was bemoaning the fact that her husband either didn't have chest hair, or did, I forget, and I mentioned that Jay had silky black hair on the back of his shoulders and his upper back, and both my sisters reared back and said "Eeeeyooouuh!"  Huh?  It's not like it crawled out of his shirt!  All his body fur was longish, straightish, very fine and soft.  He had curves around the top and inside edges of his shoulder blades, and a triangle on his lower back.  His lower arms and legs were thickly furred, with a swirled point of fur that extended out onto the top of his feet and the back of his hands.  That curving point of dark silk on the backs of his long-fingered artist's hands only emphasized their masculine sensitivity.  Without that fur they might have looked too feminine.  He had a lighter baby-down on his behind that I absolutely loved.  Petting his behind was like petting a kitten.  All of his fur grew in a direction - it wasn't random - it swirled to the right or left, or swooped down or around.  It was beautiful.  How could any real woman not delight in that?

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Pictures of all those folks in blocks-long lines outside Floridian lumber stores, waiting to buy plywood tocover their windows.  Why don't they have shutters?  Everywhere we stayed in France, there were working shutters on the windows, and every night, you'd lean out the window and pull the shutters closed.  In the morning, you'd open them.  I don't know what they were there for, it's not like they have a lot of storms.  I suppose they do foil burglars.  Jay loved them.  He loved the ceremony of them.  The closing from and opening to the world.  He wanted to put working shutters on our windows, or at least on the bedroom windows, but we'd have to replace the crank windows with double-hung, and then there's the SGDs, so it didn't happen.

Anyway, wouldn't shutters be a good idea in Florida?  I know a lot of the more expensive houses have metal shutters that roll up and down in a track.  But for the less expensive digs, permanently installed hinged wooden shutters have to be less expensive in the long run than all those sheets of plywood, they'd offer better protection, be faster and simpler to deploy, and less damaging to the window frames and exterior walls.  So why aren't they more common?  Hmmmm.  I think I smell a business opportunity.