Another lovely evening with Sondheim, the artist formerly known as “Mr. Goodbar,” (which may have been raising the bar too high).
We dined al fresco, sharing plates of lamb, lobster and duck (in that order), making the most of gentrification with a few hipster-curated cocktails, and enjoying a very frank and well-articulated conversation about privilege, feminism, Obama’s presidency, international travel, Trap music (he loves it), social and sexual mores, and whether either of us considers having children vital to our personal happiness (that would be a ‘no’, but we absolutely adore yours), I once again had the feeling that I was indeed in the presence of a kindred spirit…
But would I call it chemistry? I mean, was there any potential for actual heat?
I suppose that if I have to ask, I may already be answering my own question, but since this is always the part where my heart, head and libido collide, it’s worth exploring.
Obviously, like many of you, I’ve gone the strictly chemical route more than once in the past. It’s so rare – and so hot – how can you not? These are the flames that burn so bright, you blissfully ignore all evidence of potential disaster…even while it’s kissing you passionately. But as flames do, they often flare, flicker, and then unceremoniously fizzle out, leaving smoke in your eyes and more than a few scorched fingertips in their wake. Ouch.
Which of course, then leads to the inevitable pendulum swing back to a rational choice.
You know, the one who’s great on paper. The one who has all the right credentials, and maybe even a few of the right words and gestures, but is ultimately the chemical equivalent of kissing your “play cousin” – not necessarily wrong, but not right, either. At least, not right for you…and waiting for your attraction to grow is akin to waiting for the groundhog’s shadow; a lot of hope, with no guarantee of change.
And then, there are a select few you never take that seriously to begin with. These are the placeholders, who you may or may not have anything in common with, but conveniently show up just in time to help you shake off the cobwebs and/or have something to do on a Saturday night. I know, it sounds callous, but since you’re generally the same for them, it’s no harm, no foul…until one of you catches feelings. Then, you may as well have a stateroom on the Titanic, because unless it’s mutual, you’re probably sunk.
So, on a scale of ambivalence to undeniable attraction, where am I with Sondheim?
I honestly have no idea…but is it selfish to say that I’d like to take my own sweet, smelling the roses, sampling the rosés time to figure it out?
I mean…I’ve spent an entire lifetime tailoring myself to fit any number of man-made boxes, and in the blessed absence of my biological clock beating a full-on four-on-the-floor in my ear, what difference does it make?