Etiquette for the End of the World

chapter 4

Dating as if Your Life Depended on It (Which It Actually Does)



Post-2012 romance is a lot different from what you may remember. For one thing, you are going to have to lower your standards somewhat. To wit, no longer can you rule out thieves and murderers from the dating pool; it’s all about the circumstances. Who did he murder? Someone who was about to kill and eat his pet dog? From whom did she steal? The terrorist tribe who has been stealing from others all over the countryside? Remember: Don’t be too picky or you will end up alone. And believe me, alone is not good if you want to survive.

There is also the matter of rethinking the qualities you may be trained to look for in a mate.

Ladies, you are going to have to unlearn a few things, I’m afraid. Remember that sensitive, caring, book-reading, portobello-mushroom-cooking kind of guy? Did you used to feel ever so lucky to have found him amid the renowned urban-man shortage? Well, don’t look now but this guy is simply not going to cut it under the current circumstances. On the contrary, what you are going to need is a lot closer to that red-faced construction worker who used to hoot at you from the shoulder on the New Jersey Turnpike.

And fellows? Say good-bye to your spike-heeled, long-nailed prima-donna trophy girlfriend. She may have lit your fire before, but it’s not the kind of fire you’re going to need lighting now. No, you’ll want to charm that wood-chopping, cropped-haired, broad-shouldered type you always used to try so hard not to get into the elevator with when you both arrived at the office at the same time. If she has a few extra pounds on her, so much the better, with the current food shortages.

The good news is that everyone looks attractive by firelight. But whether you are gay or straight, you are going to have to reorder your priorities. Health before beauty, resourcefulness before charm. Here is a useful checklist for assessing your prospective partners:



End-of-the-World Mate Checklist:

TEETH: Everyone knows that the teeth are a sign of good health, but after all he is not a horse (though you may hope he is as strong as one), so you can’t just go up to a person and pull his lips back. When endeavoring to sneak a peek at someone’s teeth, it is important that you be somewhat subtle. Making the person laugh is often a good way to get a look. Also you might try, “I think you have something stuck in your teeth. Let me see if I can help you.”

FEET:



Tess looked up from her laptop when she saw Richie coming over to her. She had snagged her favorite corner seat at the back edge of the bar, the one right under the 1960s Tuesday Weld poster for Dash laundry detergent. It always felt like her own private Idaho.

“How’s the writing going?” Richie asked. “You ready for another drink?”

“No,” said Tess. “I have to be clearheaded enough to assemble a solid oak bed frame that came from Ikea this morning. I’m a little worried because the instructions say it’s a two-man job. And I’m not even one man.”

“That’s so true,” grinned Richie.

“I could pay the super to help me, but it kind of defeats the whole purpose of buying the thing at Ikea.”

“What about your gorgeous Mr. WOOSH?” Richie refilled her water glass. “Sorry … . It’s Peter, right?”

For some reason Tess blushed. “I don’t think he’s very handy that way.” What she didn’t say was that she had gotten the new bed frame specifically with Peter in mind. He had invited her to a New Year’s Eve black-tie casino party that was being held in her neighborhood, and she realized it would make sense for them to come to her place afterward. It would be his first time at her apartment. Her old frame was an antique sleigh bed Matt had picked out years ago, and it had always creaked terribly. Every other month one of the braces came loose and the box spring would slip off one corner. Tess had wanted a new bed for a long time, and this was the perfect occasion. New man, new start, new bed, no creaks.

“Here’s a thought,” Richie said. “I’m off at seven. I know those Ikea pieces pretty well. The instructions are written in Sanskrit. They’ll drive you insane … . If you want, I could give you a hand.” Richie had his head in down under the bar, moving bottles around. “My plans with Jason got canceled for the evening anyhow.”

Ah, Jason. The hot boyfriend. “What a nice offer … but …” It was odd to think of Richie outside the Scrub-a-Dub-Pub. She felt almost as if he would vanish in a puff of smoke, once outside this world. Or that the wonderful comforting thing she had with him would be ruined in some way. Crossing boundaries with people was always a little dangerous. But then she thought of the long heavy Ikea boxes the super had lined up along the wall in her bedroom.

“God, Richie, that would be so fabulous. Are you sure?”

Walking home with him beside her felt more natural than she imagined it would. They chatted easily about neighborhood shops, bemoaning the invasion of the chains, admiring the latest “Purple Man” sidewalk painting. But as they drew near to her building, Tess started worrying about the condition of her apartment, especially her bedroom. Were there clothes on the floor? Had she left all the drawers open with things hanging out? She hoped he was not one of those super-neat gay men. But that was just a stereotype, wasn’t it?

When they first came in, Tess spotted a pair of black underwear dangling off the back of a dining room chair, where she had forgotten she left them. She tried to quickly slough them off onto the seat of the chair but they landed on Carmichael’s head instead. Richie pretended not to notice, smoothing it over by going on at great length about how much he loved her apartment, her vintage knickknacks, her numerous shelves filled with old leather-bound books.

When Richie reached down to pet Carmichael (after the offending underwear had been removed), Tess told him that the cat seemed to take to him the way he never did to strangers.

“But it’s probably because I’m not that strange,” Richie leaned down farther, as Carm purred and stretched his face up toward Richie’s.

“Wow. I go to the bar so much, maybe he recognizes your smell,” she said with a laugh.

Richie had not been lying about being handy. He barely looked at the instructions; he seemed to know instinctively where each piece went. Tess could not even identify Parts A and B, never mind Parts C, D, E, and F.

“I dabble a bit in furniture making” was all he said when Tess praised his know-how.

It took about half an hour to get the four main beams attached completely. Only the smaller braces remained.

“Hand me the Allen wrench,?” Richie said.

Tess picked it up off the floor, shooing Carmichael away with her elbow for the tenth time. She crouched alongside Richie, holding a beam up so that he could more easily affix two hard-to-reach bolts. She had opened the window as far as it would go, but the old radiator was still blasting away and they were both sweaty and hot. Richie took the wrench from her, and a lock of his shaggy hair fell into his eyes. Tess, fighting off an impulse to reach up and brush his hair away from his forehead, felt a faint but surprising rush of desire.

God, Tess thought, I guess it doesn’t matter who he is, when you are thirty-nine and single and there’s a man in your bedroom. She tried to shake off the feeling by imagining Peter lying naked in her bed. But for some reason at that moment she could not conjure up a clear picture of him. All she could see in her mind’s eye was a tuxedo and a head of perfect wavy hair, gray at the temples.