Hello, pleased to meet you again. In case you don’t remember me, I’m Lucinda Loveface. (I named myself that the day I realized that Love has pretty much always been my focus—no, I’ll admit it, my obsession.) I’ve been married four times, proposed to nine and a half times. And there may be more ahead. Not that there is anything wrong with that. Right?
So that story about Writerman and I was one marriage. (And don’t get me wrong, in spite of everything even that marriage gave me a lot of good stuff. An introduction to spirituality was a main thing. Shirley MacLaine, psychic phenomena, EST seminars and a bunch more.) But I digress.
The next marriage I’ll tell you about, my number four, was my next shortest one (five years), and getting married was my really my own fault. I didn’t pay attention to things I should have. I wouldn’t have married him if I’d known what I know now. Hee-haw, I guess that’s what we all say.
Today I was reminded of how freaking clueless I‘ve been about relationships. I tripped over my copy of Kissing: The Best Tips, Techniques, and Advice by Taylor D’Aotino. (Remember, I already told you I was obsessed with love and its related matters. And so, OK, I’m not the neatest freak in the whole world. And Yes, I have piles of romance novels, and also yes, I go barefoot all over at home.)
I first got the kissing book about five years ago, to learn a way to tell this guy I was dating, not to go all into my mouth with a hundred-miles-a-minute squiggly wiggly tongue thingy while kissing. I wanted to puke every time he did the wiggly thing straight off, without the warm-up closed mouth, soft kisses first. (I mean really!)
I wish I’d had the damn book way longer ago. It might have kept me away from that number four. Anyway. Truly, no joke, the book is real. It’s written for men and it explains what I wanted (and am still wanting in the kiss department), in the part about the “Basic Romantic Kiss”.
In the book, he tells the guy to pay attention to the non-verbal signs during the whole kissing thing. I made a list and some notes of the non-verbal signs going back and forth in—ta-da—”Basic Romantic Kissing.” I think., or at least, I hope, it’s easier to understand the signs in a list. Anyway, here goes.
Signal. Look at her lips, then up to her eyes, then down at those lips again to see where you will land. As your lips come together, close your eyes. She may not like to open her eyes and see you staring at her. (Yeah; Got that right.)
Signal. The man leans in slowly, then when he’s partly to her, he pauses briefly. This lets her know what’s happening so she can adjust and get ready. You don’t want to catch her off guard by a kiss that comes from nowhere. (Damn right! It happens. It happened to me. And I didn’t what it could mean.)
Back to my point. The first date, in the fourth marriage-that-didn’t-work-out, ended with the catching-her-off-guard kind of kiss. (I’m hoping I’m not giving you too many numbers to keep straight.) I should have paid more attention to that.
The beginning of the date was fine; He got to the designated restaurant on time. Good. He had asked me where there was a convenient place for me to meet him. (He lived way the heck up in Pasadena or some other foreign city up north of me, and frankly, I freak out on freeways.) So that was good too.
When he showed up (Yes, I was already there; I’m always early.), I noticed he had made an effort with his grooming. When I first met him at a dating party for “educated singles,” his hair stuck up and out, not unlike Bernie Sanders. His hair had been cut and had moose—or product that made his salt and pepper (mostly salt) hair shiny. Nice. He wore his smudged glasses on one of those stringy things that go around the neck. Smudgies, not so nice.
We sat across from each other in a booth at the old Overland Café, before it was remodeled and had the booths taken out. Salmon and white wine. Good. We shared our stories, short versions. I had been married three times already. He had never had a committed relationship. And relationships fascinated me. (I already told you about my obsession. In fact, I was now a Relationship Therapist. I did all those years of study and practice just so I could figure out what it took to build a working relationship.)
Around two o’clock, the time I had to leave, I spouted off a summary of our meeting. “Well, I like you, but it seems we have very different focuses. I am focused on building relationships and you have never been in a committed relationship. It seems we wouldn’t be a very good match. What do you think?” (Completely unnecessary and partway stuck up too, I admit.)
He got the sweetest look on his face, gave a sorta sad smile and said, “I’ve never had a committed relationship. But I’d like to.” His defenselessness blew me away. My heart just melted like a candle that had burned all night long. Blob. Blob.Blob.
He walked me to my car, which turned out to be parked in the same lot as his was, behind the Overland. In fact, I was parked right next to his car. I opened my car door and turned back behind me to where he was standing. I was just about to say thank you and goodbye when suddenly there was a big strong kiss on my mouth from out of nowhere. It felt a little weird—no transition and all, like the book says.
And there was another time, an important time, when I didn’t know what to do with those mixed up non-verbal signs. About a year after that first date (Surprise!), we had lived together for six months. It was Halloween, daytime; we had gone out for lunch. He had brought along a big fat book, and after ordering, he plopped that old book on the table, flipped it open to the middle, and sat there reading it. Not one word of conversation. No eye contact. No Nuttin.
I was mad and thinking about breaking up with him. (I would never have asked him to talk to me instead of reading. That would have felt like I was begging for attention.) When we got home, I began to read in bed, trying to get myself calmed down. (And maybe, I admit, trying to give him some of his own medicine.) Did he notice I wasn’t happy? I don’t know. But he came to where I was in bed, waved his hand in a motion for me to move over and give him some room. I moved over. I was freakin’ confused because he seemed pleased about something.
I not ready for what he said, or really the cat-who-swallowed-the-canary way he said, “Are you happy with our relationship?” Without looking at me or even waiting for my answer—which would have been a temporary, but definite No—he went on. “Do you want to get married?” Such a mismatch of emotions. He was being lovey; I was still pissed off.
So, I tried to readjust myself to give him an answer. The best I could do was, “I have to think about it.”
Smiling like a kid, with that darn sweetness that sometimes popped through, he said, “We could make our trip to Paris and London be our honeymoon. Wouldn’t that be efficient?” (He was an abstract mathematician, after all; what did I expect?) It didn’t take too long to think about it. About two minutes. I did love him despite everything. I was always charmed at that sweetness-that-sometimes-came-out.
Turns out we got married, went to Paris. I had thought we would get sexy in the Parisian hotel. After all it was our honeymoon. He made no romantic moves there, no kissing, and I needed to feel wanted to feel sexy. So, we covered a lot of tourist territory in Paris while it snowed, and in London, while it rained. But no hanky-panky. Was I missing his signaling? Was he signaling that he just wasn’t that interested in sex or romance? I don’t know; I didn’t catch it. I just ached off and on for those five years.
I know it never helps to go into the Woulda-coulda-shoulda hell. But it sure could apply: Me missing early signs that he was missing signs.
I’ll save telling you about the two other marriages, both also legal ones at that, for another time. Happy trails till then.
Love, Linda Loveface