On Being Sexy

With the coronation of “Saipan’s Sexiest Male Blogger” happening tonight at the Blogger’s Meet Up at Java Joe’s, I must say that I’m happy that Brad is going to get this title, for one simple reason. He needs it. Really. The rest of us have little use for it. What can I, or Harry or Jeff or Bruce who are married do with the title. What advantage can Angelo parlay with EJ with the title? For those of us who have a woman in our lives, we might get a “that’s nice, dear” if we win, but it’s not a marketable title in our hands. Brad, on the other hand, might be able to entice a date with the title. No small feat for Brad.

Middle-aged sexiness is a strange thing. Most of us in our late 30’s and early 40’s still think of ourselves as being just out of high school. I see the “sexy angst” played out all the time among my peers. Like a few years ago, when a bunch of us were coaching kids soccer. One of the moms, a commander of a woman, had just gotten a short haircut, and was walking across the field, hair bobbing about her neck. One of the dads stopped dead in his tracks to tuck his overlapping belly into his shorts and to admire the movement of this former cheerleader. And as she walked by him like a cat basking in his gaze, he nodded his head and said seriously, “Looking good, Jen. Looking good.” It was a moment I’m sure both of them would cherish for days to come.

A week later, on the same soccer field, one of the moms noticed I was getting a few wisps of grey at my temples. “David! Are you getting some grey hair?” “Yeah, I’ve had some grey for years.” “I think it’s so sexy.” “Hmmm. What good does that do me,” I wondered. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter much who thinks I’m sexy, unless it’s my wife. From general observation, I can tell you that wives are not easily impressed.

Every year, Russ, the CEO at Marianas Eye Institute and I head to Hawaii for an eye conference. Every time we get to the front desk of a hotel, or to a restaurant, we’re met with the question: Are we “together.” “Will that be a king-size bed, or two doubles?” “Can I get you a quite table in the corner?” We spend a fair bit of our time thinking “ewww,” laughing, and clarifying that we’re together, but not “together.” At dinner one night, we noticed one of the speakers, a guy in his 40’s was waiting for a table with a woman. We had seen them together the day before on our way to hike in the Kailua Canyon. We watched them for a while, and I said to Russ, “Something about that dynamic tells me that they’re not married. She’s his girlfriend.” “Oh, yeah, that’s obvious.” “What tells you that?” “Well, she’s laughing at everything he says. If she were his wife, she would just be annoyed.”

Now, I’m lucky that Mara still laughs at my jokes, in fact, so often that it sometimes surprises me. I like to get to the movies early because I just love that Steve Martin as Inspector Clouseau “turn off your cell phones” trailer. The last time we saw it, I leaned over and told Mara that the woman on Clouseau’s right, is so unmoved and disinterested in his antics that it’s obvious that she’s his wife. Mara laughed, and maybe even kissed me on the cheek. I’m sexy in Mara’s book, so that makes me a winner in the only way that matters to us men with women. Enjoy the title, Brad.

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