First there’s the obligatory ex, who casually calls every two weeks, as if trying to keep his foot in the door or at very least his pinky, mentioning a line in sex in the city, which he does not watch, presenting further evidence to an already cold case….that he has moved on and is dating someone else.
Next there is the long distance crush who you had hoped to have a five minute flirtatious conversation, courtesy of 10-10-220, which would give you the push to get back in the game. No such luck.
Or the reruns, the men who’ve stumbled on you thanks to facebook, and to their utter delight have found that you haven’t aged a day since your sixteenth birthday (their words.) Who are as sweet as you remember them and yet as forgettable.
And finally the possibilities: Toronto used to be the Baskin Robins city; one of the few cities in the world where hybrid, smart, charming men ran rampant. You could get any flavour you wanted. Chinese and black, sure, Indian and Korean, Yup, German and Puerto Rican, Fo Sho! And even the plain flavours were available in droves. Men were everywhere; on subway cars, elevators, out and about Saturday nights at the clubs, movies, bars, restaurants, you couldn’t walk two steps without someone giving you the eye, smiling you down, ‘come hithering’ you across the street.
Men were practically growing out of the cracks on the street, like persistent summer weeds.
Then today came along and they’ve all but disappeared. The city is going through a drought. It’s as if the unseasonably cold temperatures have all driven all the hot men south. Instead we woman of Toronto now have to deal with a whole breed of leftovers best described by their Saturday night wear:
Meet Bachelor #1, he wears fitted designer jeans, a fitted stripped shirt, a waist coat (vest for the rest of you) and to add a nonchalant touch, a skinny tie in colors such as pink, black, gold. This man reeks of ambition, good looks, confidence and charm, and is only too aware that he is, what most mothers would call ‘a catch.’ He even comes with his own personal set of groupies, tittering girls who follow him from event to event all weekend long, vying for his attention, dancing up on each other like BET taught them, giggling at his wunnnderful jokes.
Introducing Bachelor #2: B2 wears a shirt, sometimes fitted, sometimes loose. Sometimes he goes ultra casual with a graphic tee. B2 comes with his own brand of ‘devil may care’ attitude. B2 is guilty of phrases such as “Oh you too stuck up to talk to me?” Men be warned, that is never a good opening line. Infact all lines are never good. A mere hello suffices.
The Sport Coat: Bachelor #3 has revived the sport coat 80’s look, updated it with a pair of $300 jeans and a black bracelet that give his preppy look an edge. B3 is cocky, smooth and determined. Who else would wear a damned sport coat on the hottest nights, to the warmest events with a shirt and even an undershirt? B3’s layers are supposed to signify maturity and affluence. Instead they are tell tale signs that this is the classic ‘onion man.’ As you peel his layers, he begins to give off a little stink and eventually makes your eyes water.
Last but not least we have bachelor #4, sunglasses, Argyle sweater & bling man man. Admittedly there was a point where we all thought sunglasses and chains bigger than a person's torso were sorta, kinda cool. We were fourteen then and lots of other silly things were cool like slap on bracelets. We have evolved but B4 has remained in his niche. B4’s flirtatious lines begin and end with sucking teeth noises.
What’s a girl gotta do to get some individuality?