a boy of good breeding, part four
After purchasing the new Adele album this week, I started to think more and more about the men who have come in and on top of my life. Listening to the album religiously these past few days, it appears that at 21 years of age, Adele has only two emotions she can express musically: heartbreak and anger. When she is not heartbroken (Someone like you) or angry (Set Fire to the Rain) she is both (Rolling in the Deep). There is no question she has the talent and soul, I just can’t wait till she grows up enough to catch up with her voice.
Of course here at Rugged Fox I am no one to type. After three-hundred thousand words and twenty-five years on this planet, I can still only express two emotions somewhat poetically: desperation and nostalgia. When I am not desperately seeking a man*, I am reading in my journal about the six times I have actually been with one. So, in the spirit of hopelessly re-hashing the past, I bring to you the fourth installment of “A Boy of Good Breeding.”
If you are not familiar with the Sweet Valley High love story, please refer to A Boy of Good Breeding Parts One, Two, and Three. For those readers who just need a little refresher, here you go.
When we last left off in part four, I had just broken the news to my mom at the breakfast table that I had invited a man from the gay bar over for Thanksgiving dinner.
“You what?” she exclaimed, spitting her steaming cup of Maxwell across the morning paper.
“I know,” I replied, reaching for a napkin to clean up the mess, “hot right?”
Then, referencing her favourite movie to calm her down, I explained to her the entire situation was one-hundred percent Planes, Trains and Automobiles.
“This guy is a total John Candy Rest in Peace, he is like a million miles away from home this weekend and has no one to spend Thanksgiving with. Naturally, I had no choice but to reprise the role of Steve Martin and invite him over for dinner. Trust me, you are going to like this one, he has no time to break my heart.”
And that brings us up to speed.
Wrapping up breakfast with my mom, I dragged myself downstairs to the basement to put together my outfits for the day. I had a busy Saturday ahead of me and had no time for wardrobe malfunctions. I was in town for my best friend Belle’s little sister’s wedding and was scheduled to make appearances at not only the Church ceremony but also the dinner reception. As if that were not enough, I also had to check my phone every four minutes to see if I had received a message from Chord.
Here is what the rest of the day sounded like:
11:47 a.m. at the Church
RUGGED FOX: “Why hasn’t he text-ed me yet?”
GIRL ON THE PEW BESIDE HIM: Would you be quiet? This is the most important part of the ritual.
RUGGED FOX: Oh bitch please, it’s not like you don’t know what’s going to happen. They both say I do, kiss and then five years later you put the stamp on a get-well card that says “I’m sorry about the divorce.” I wonder if he is still sleeping...
"Why hasn't he text-ed me yet?"
2:15 p.m. at the A&W across from Polo Park Mall
RUGGED FOX: Why hasn’t he text-ed me yet?
FOX’S FATHER: Teen burger or mama burger?
RUGGED FOX: Mama burger please.
5:36 p.m. in line for the open bar at the Transcona Country Club
RUGGED FOX: Why hasn’t he text-ed me yet?BELLE: You know you haven’t even said one word about my dress yet.
RUGGED FOX: I mean seriously, do you think he could still be sleeping this late? Because I don’t know if I want to date a guy who sleeps passed four, noon is one thing but four is a relationship I don’t want to be in. G&T please, make it a double. Sorry babe, what were you saying?
10:02 p.m. on Rugged Fox’s cell phone.
CHORD: How is the wedding?
RUGGED FOX: What wedding?
"a prairie boy with a touch of coast"Fast-forward to six o’clock Thanksgiving Sunday and you will find me pulling up outside the Fort Garry Hotel in my dad’s ‘94 Toyota Camry. Shifting the car in to stop, I stepped outside the driver-side door dressed like a prairie boy with a touch of coast. A cross between James Dean and Jason Stackhouse, my ripped jeans suggested “casual” while my collar shirt prefixed “semi.” Even though I couldn’t see a bloody thing with them on, I also wore my hot brown aviators. Their final touch elevated my entire ensemble from a page-six newsprint ad for Joe Fresh to an eight-page glossy spread for Club Monaco.
After ten minutes passed I began to worry that my date had changed his mind. Reaching in the car for my cell phone I was dismayed to see that I had no new messages. Surely I thought he would’ve text-ed me if he was going to be late – at the very least.
I mean don’t get me wrong, I am the last person to criticize anyone about being on time. Most days I operate on PGT (Pacific Gay Time), so if I say I will be at your house at six you can expect me around eleven-thirty. Except, when it comes to special occasions such as a date with another man, I generally make a point to be on straight time.
Five more minutes crawled by and there was still no blurry sign of Chord. The sun slipping behind the trees, I took a seat back inside the car and reluctantly removed my shades. Placing my prescription glasses back on, I looked up to see Chord clearly standing outside the passenger side window. I smiled and reached over to let him in.
“I’m really sorry! I went to buy some new clothes for tonight and got completely lost downtown.”
Holding his Starbucks for him, I watched as reached for his seatbelt and noticed the shiny new outfit he was wearing. He was dressed in what could have only been a brand new suit. His shoes were polished, his tie was 100% silk, and his belt buckle flashed sterling silver.
“You didn’t have to dress up! Or buy new clothes for that matter” I said, plotting a quick outfit change when I got home. “Where did you go shopping?”
“Harry Rosen,” he whispered under his breath. “I wanted to look nice for dinner tonight.”
“Well you look very handsome.”
Shifting the car in to go, I hit the gas and reached over to take his left hand in mine. While the sun set in front of us, the two of us drove west to my parents house for dinner.
To be continued…
I just thought this picture was pretty.
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*Thank you to the anonymous gentleman emailer who noticed my mathematical error on the application to be my first husband. You are right; I do not want to marry a man with a negative salary. I hope I have fixed it!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011 at 05:55PM Share Article 4 Comments Email Article | Print Article | tagged Chord, Thanksgiving, winnipeg in LOVE
Reader Comments (4)
You are leaving me hanging here, much like how you felt waiting for the text message from Chord. In a strange coincidence, I am listening to Adele 21 "Turning Tables" as I write this. I can't wait to hear what happens with Chord. I am expecting big things. And some more romance too.
Love it! From cups of Maxwell to 94 Camrys to PGT, love it!!! AND, I note, I'm behind in my Fox reading.....time to catch up!! : )
If you were not so far away I thik i would bitch slap you right now. There so had better not be an ani-climax to this story DAMMIT!
Aw... he wanted to make a good impression... big gold star!