It Takes Just Two to Put You off Men for Life

Recently a 58-year old man I hardly know wanted to marry me. According to him, I am everything he looks for in a woman – intelligent, independent, nice smile, and most of all, I can speak French.

My first reaction was to burst into laughter. Next, the mirth turned into repulsion and then total disrespect for him.

I know I know, my dad would have admonished, ‘’you are no longer a spring chicken that can pick and choose’’. In fact, the more rude relatives might have even said, ‘’you should be so lucky anyone wants to marry an old woman.’’

Well, I am indeed lucky I have protective – and possessive - male friends too, who were more indignant than me when they heard the incredulous reasons for wanting to marry me.

‘’Stop seeing him – he is an old man who needs a nurse, not a wife,’’ said one of them.

‘’Who is this B@*&%? Next time he calls you…,’’ said D, my ex now turned buddy-open-relationship chum.

Exactly who is this idiot? His name and identity shall remain unknown, to preserve some dignity. My friend is so right - he is not just an old man, but a bigoted old man. He has everything planned out for ‘’our future’’, sans discussion: the married couple is supposed to live in Australia, where he has his business, for some years, before his children from his previous marriage grow up to become independent. While in Australia, he expects his newly migrated wife to be financially independent, and to be able to find a job, and contribute 50% of the household expenses. And then later in life, the couple is supposed to retire and live, happily ever after, in France.

Any da lu mei would have grabbed at this good life. But not me. Why Australia? Why France? Why no room for MY views? If you are expecting the wife to contribute 50% of the household expenses, surely she has 50% share of voice regarding where to live? I may not necessarily choose Singapore, you know. And what’s this thing about French-speaking? If a good soul mate cannot speak French, does not mean you rule her out completely? Nice smile? What a cliché. Gimme some respect – didn’t you say I was intelligent? My face will sag with age and my smile will go crooked one day if hit by a stroke you know.

You don’t choose a wife the way you grade peanuts or choose tea leaves at a tea auction. At least that’s not how I fall in love. Otherwise I would have dated (and married) very rich and ‘’successful’’ men in my social and business circles.

Sure, I am no angel and saint. But there are a few hot buttons that will send me running (and mind you, I run marathons!) thousands of miles away from jerks.

Jerks like C: we enjoyed each other’s friendship initially, until he started to assess me like an applicant at a job interview during our one on one outing. What books do I read, what do I do over the weekend, what sports do I engage in. Instead of an intellectually stimulating conversation over dinner, it became an intense GMAT test.

Heck, he could not even conduct his interrogation with some style and grace, but had to jump in judgmentally, ‘’you run marathons! You must be a competitive woman!’’

Then when it came to reading as a hobby, he interrogated further, ‘’what books, what are the books about, tell me the plot and the author, etc etc’’.

Again, instead of listening, he cut in, ‘’so you believe in all this marketing crap? I always think branding is over-rated, bla bla bla…’’

‘’No, C, it’s not about marketing, it’s…’’ I tried to explain the latest book by a best-selling author. ‘’According to my MBA, marketing is all about the four P’s….’’ he cut in, went on and on before I could finish, and then ended, condescendingly with an obnoxious flourish, ‘’so you are one of those who fell for Heinz’ awful baked bean ads…’’ He totally missed the point, lost the plot, and made a moron of himself.

OK, I let him have the floor. I smiled graciously, and maintained my poise. I certainly was not going to lose my cool over an abhorrent snob.

I was already bored with this jerk, and decided to amuse myself and see how far he could go in making a fool of himself. The best (or worst?) was yet to come. He knew all along I don’t really appreciate music, let alone classical. But he spent a good ten minutes describing each movement of his favourite Mahler piece at the last SSO concert. ‘’It’s a pity you could not come with me last Friday,’’ he concluded his monologue.

‘’Not really, I would have fallen asleep, didn’t I tell you I don’t enjoy classical music?’’ I reminded him.

‘’So, you didn’t want to watch 2012. What type of movies do you like, besides historical movies that you mentioned last time?’’ he tried to revive our conversation.

Talking about movies. To give him face, I agreed to watch 2012 with him one week ago. I checked the timing, the cinema, etc before re confirming our meeting. He had simply mentioned the movie, hazarded a time and the cinema, without bothering to check the movie schedules. As expected, he waited at the wrong Cathay. Somehow, I just KNEW he would wait at the wrong Cathay, but I didn’t bother to clarify prior to the meeting. I don’t want to be somebody’s nurse, you know.

Best of all, it was a weekend, and he was stupid enough to have suggested meeting 15 minutes before the show starts, to try and get tickets. (‘’I always just walk in spontaneously to get a ticket when I feel like a movie,’’ he said.) And he just ‘’assumed there was only ONE Cathay on Orchard Road’’! But he waited at the Cathay on Handy Road instead! And this guy’s not even 50 yet. I shudder to think where he would end up waiting when he reaches 58. And he said he has an MBA?!

This date from hell made my one hour meeting with him feel like hours, with all his self absorbed judgments about Singapore, Singaporeans, Singapore’s way of celebrating Christmas, etc. Maybe watching 2012 alone at Row One right in front of the cinema hall would have been even better.