Ever get the feeling that no matter how hard you try, things always go wrong? I've tried to understand women ever since I figured out that they were different from me, and it usually ends in disaster. The worst was the time my brother John and I had some girls over to hang around the pool while work was underway on Mom's new formal garden. I noticed that the workers were talking to each other in Spanish, and I tried to make the girls laugh by doing my best impression of Speedy Gonzales.
I guess the bikinis and smell of coconut oil made me stupid, and I didn't see Dad walking by. Next thing I knew I was standing in front of the desk in his study getting the lecture about how belonging to a wealthy family didn't make me better than anyone else, and Dad wasn't raising any racist snobs. Then I found myself on a plane to Alaska, and ended up the only Anglo on a fish cannery crew. I learned that those Mexicans were actually really decent guys, and that it doesn't pay to act like a snob.
It took a while to get John to stop calling me "Dumb Dave" after that one. Even then, I lived in fear that it would start up again with some of the things I got involved in. Every time I got around a pretty girl my brain and/or tongue seemed to shut down, and I ended up making a fool of myself. I bought a Porsche 911 hoping that it would make me a little more impressive to girls, and found that the type of girls it impressed weren't the type I wanted. I learned that one the hard way, too.
I met Brandi ("with an I") one day at Washington Park as I was tossing my stuff in the trunk after a tennis match. Brandi was impressed enough by my Porsche to walk up and start chatting with me, one thing led to another and I asked her out. We went out a couple times, and it went well enough that I asked her over to our house one night when Mom was having a party and I needed a date. Brandi had always struck me as a cute, quiet, demure type, and I was really expecting that for once I was going to look like I knew what I was doing with women. That lasted into her fourth or fifth mimosa, maybe fifteen minutes after we arrived. An hour after our arrival, I'm not sure if the caterers or Mom were getting more worried. Then Brandi somehow decided that she had to demonstrate her pole dancing skills on one of the light poles by the pool. The dress she was wearing, while a little short, had appeared appropriate when I picked her up. It was less so when she was hanging by her ankles from a light pole above the crowd's heads. I doubt she remembers what she looked like with her white butt in a leopard print thong hanging in the air like a second moon, but I'm sure no one else who was there has forgotten the sight! Mom was furious and that, I thought, was the last of my relationship with Brandi.
Then, a couple weeks later, Brandi called me and announced that she was pregnant. OK, there had been that one incident in the passenger seat of the Porsche way out in the woods, but even I know enough to take precautions in that kind of situation. Still, she was claiming that I was the only possibility and demanding that I start kicking in child support. Dad was pissed, but he doesn't let that stop him from protecting the family. Before long, his private investigator reported that "Brandi" (a stage name, apparently) had been snorting cocaine and pulling the train with various alleged musicians the whole time she had been dating me, and that there were, to put it mildly, many possible fathers. John and his buddy Brian went and had a private talk with her, and that was the last of that. Dad threatened to have me gelded if I ever got into a situation like that again, though, and I believed him!
After the Brandi incident I decided to forget about women for a while and concentrate on work. The company computer systems were a hodgepodge of various types of hardware and software, half of which couldn't communicate with the other half, and they badly needed an overhaul. Computers are logical and do what you tell them to, and I get along with them a lot better than women. After nine months of hard work everyone was telling Dad how much easier I had made their jobs, and the productivity figures were way up. I had the Brandi incident pretty much lived down.
It was during that period that Brian and Jennifer got married. I had known Jen for a while through John and, like every other man she knew, had a small crush on her. Hey, she looks like Cindy Crawford's blue eyed sister and acts like one of the guys- how could I resist? She always seemed out of my league, though, and treated me like a little brother. Frustrating, but there it was. Anyway, after she met Brian, you couldn't have proved by her that any other man in the world even existed. Brian was openly crazy about her, and while she was more subtle, you could tell it was mutual. Besides, as gentle and easygoing as he is, Brian has always intimidated me a little. He's an extremely large individual and carries battle scars he picked up in Afghanistan, although he rarely talks about it. There are rumors that he picked up some medals there, too, although he will only admit to a "purple Talibani marksmanship award", whatever that is. I never had any hope of beating him out for Jen, but I wouldn't have felt safe trying.
Not long after the wedding, John started dating Jen's housemate Lydia. Lydia teaches high school English and tends to dress like a Goth, which doesn't completely hide the fact that she's just as pretty as Jennifer. She's an incredibly nice girl and always seemed interested in how my life- especially my love life- was going. Back to being every pretty girl's little brother, I guess. I could have easily developed a mini-crush on her too, but the Man Code puts my brother's girl as far off limits as it possible to get- as if she would ever have even looked at another man anyway! That situation took its natural course, and before I knew it they were planning another wedding.
One day Jen and Lydia showed up at my office and announced that they were taking me to lunch, no matter how much I protested that I needed to monitor the SQL dump I had running. Lydia always goes straight to the point.
"You know our housemate Karen?"
Of course I knew who she was. Small, blonde, curvy, and extremely cute, with a feisty attitude twice as big as she is. I found her highly intriguing, but I rarely got over there and of course couldn't think of anything intelligent to say when I did see her.
"What about her?"
"She's going to be a bridesmaid in Lydia and John's wedding. We want you to escort her to the pre-wedding functions."
"When I agreed to be a groomsman, no one said anything about that!"
"What are you complaining for? She's beautiful!"
"Can't deny that. It's just that every time I bring a girl home it turns into a disaster, and if I do something stupid with one of your best friends at my brother's wedding I'm going to get sent to the loony bin once and for all."
They gave each other one of those female looks that would have had any sensible man scrambling for the next plane to Vladivostok. Jen took over.
"Dave?"
"Yes?"
"We think it's time for your luck to change. You're actually a decent guy, aside from the natural male tendency to get blinded by a big set of boobs. Don't look at Lydia like that, big boobs don't automatically mean a girl's stupid."
"I'm not-"
"Never mind. Your problem is that you can't tell a bimbo from a quality girl. We're picking you out a girl we know for certain is no bimbo. Give this a chance."
"Do I have any choice about it?"
In unison:
"NO!"
Well, hell, they had a point: there are worse problems than being forced to escort a cute, classy girl to some elegant parties. Might as well accept my fate like a man.
When I arrived to pick up Karen for the first party, Jennifer looked me over critically while I waited for Karen to finish getting ready.
"Not bad, not bad...Thanks for getting a haircut like I asked...if you're going to wear a tux, though, we need to work on getting the bow tie straight..."
She made some adjustments to the tie and cummerbund and reached up to straighten my hair a little.
"Jen, come on, I'm old enough to dress my wharble wharble gurk..."
I had just seen Karen coming down the stairs. Maybe a blonde in strapless black silk sounds like a cliché, but if she knows how to pull it off- and Karen sure did- the effect is stunning. Jen glanced over her shoulder.
"Deep breath, Dave! Take a deep breath!"
I did. She looked up at me, amused.
"She's just a girl, Dave!"
"She's a goddess!"
"No, she's not. Just relax and be yourself and things will go fine. Did you think about some stuff to talk about like I told you?"
"Uh, yeah, I've got the list here someplace..."
"Gimme that!"
Karen glided over to us and gave me a friendly smile.
"Hi, Dave! You're right, Jen, he does clean up pretty good!"
"Uhhhh..."
"What my idiot adopted brother-in-law is trying to say, Karen, is that you look amazing. Which you do. Right, Dave?"
"Yeah, right, you really do."
Karen put on a terrible imitation of a Southern accent.
"This old rag? Why, aren't you just the sweetest thing!"
We all cracked up, and I got a feeling that this might actually work out.
"OK, you two kids get out of here. Brian's coming by here to pick me up and I want some private time since I haven't seen him all day."
"Newlyweds! Sheesh!"
"Don't knock it if you haven't tried it, Dave! Just go!"
When we got out to my car Karen looked it over casually.
"This the turbo version?"
"No, normal fuel injected."
"Yeah, my brother had a 911 Turbo for a while. I thought the turbo made it even twitchier coming out of corners, but he liked it."
"You used to race sports cars?"
"He did. I just drove it for fun and helped him navigate for a couple rallies."
"Not any more?"
