He's All Growns Up and He's Growns Up

These are things my friend Rob used to like.

Large breasts.

Larger breasts.

Large bare breasts.

Breasts that are larger than the previously mentioned breasts.

Vapid obnoxious women with large breasts.

Things that remind him of large breasts.

Sports.

Eating.

Watching sports and eating while looking at large breasts.

He's not a bad guy. In fact, he's a really good guy. The only problem that most people have with Rob is that he is a guy, and he makes no excuses about it. He doesn't pretend or play games or try to be something he's not. He's Rob, and if you don't like that, tough noogies. A quick example to let you understand who Rob is. For five years, not five months, or five weeks, FIVE YEARS, Rob dated this girl. They had this much in common...

See that vast wasteland of emptiness? That's it. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Not even buzzards circling overhead. For crying out loud, they didn't have buzzards. Although, I guess they should have, that would have been an incredibly appropriate symbolic kinda dealie.

This girl was, without a doubt, the most stuck up person I have ever encountered. She was so full of herself that she would thumb through magazines and tell us how much hotter she was than any of the movie stars or models in there. And, not only was she arrogant, she was crude, disrespectful, and insensitive as well. I attended two, yes two, weddings at which she informed the bride, to her face, that they didn't look as good as she would on her wedding day. I know all you women are gasping right now, go on, gasp. This is a very gaspworthy moment, and I know all you men are thinking, damn, this chick must be smokin'.

That's the thing, she wasn't. If I was forced for a moment to be superficial, I'd give her perhaps a seven. Although, if you're into cut-rate breast implants you might give her an eight.

My wife and I talked the other day and the only redeeming quality we could come up with was that she has nice posture. (As does my dad's cardiologist, posture so good you can't not notice it. It's remarkable really, it's like he has a two by four for a spine.)

I already mentioned mean, rude, insensitive, and stuck up, but the kicker is that she was also stupid. I'm pretty certain that I've taken more intelligent craps. I'm talking cat getting itself stuck to a screen door with no idea how to get off level of stupidity. Now don't get me wrong, I have no problem with foreigners. I'm into that whole America as a melting pot concept. I'm only second generation USA myself, if the borders were closed, my grandma in Sweeden and grandpa over in Ireland would have had a heck of a time making my dad, then where would I be? My problem with this particular foreigner was that I rarely understood the things she was saying. Every conversation I ever had with her left me in a perpetual state of "huh." The slang terms didn't quite translate in her tiny little mind (how come the people with the big head always have the smallest brains?), so you were left with some really odd combinations of words. All the words were English, but the order in which she used them didn't quite make real sentences. "You're lights are open," she once said to my wife. Wife replied with a polite smile before turning to me and mouthing, "what the hell?" I shrugged, cuz I had no idea.

Another time I heard her comment on a movie we'd just seen by saying, "I'll hit it with the butter." I think I heard Ebert say that once too, but I don't recall if the thumb was up or down.

I would understand if she'd just fallen off the boat, but she'd been here seven years and claims to have spoken English back in Bimboistan as well. This woman is in medical school for God's sake. That frightens me.

At one point in their five year relationship, I asked Rob where he saw them going. He guessed they'd eventually get married. I threw up in my mouth a little, but I think I covered it up well by saying that I'd swallowed my gum. "Seriously," I asked, "why are you with her?"

"She's hot," he admitted, "and she hasn't broken up with me yet."

"Yeah, but she's an idiot," I answered, as only a friend of more than twenty years could. "Doesn't she annoy the hell out of you?"

"Of course, what am I deaf?" Rob answered, "But all women annoy me. It's just the way that women are. They do stupid things and whine and buy trinkets for the bathroom and get upset about idiotic things that make no sense." (Don't get mad at Rob, faithful female readers, he has an epiphany soon).

"There not all like that," I tried to explain for about the four hundred and sixty-eight billionth time. You see, we'd had this conversation before, not just about this girl, but about all of them. Candy and Renee and Dina and Sylvia and Patty and Delia. They all annoyed him, but he stuck it out, just waiting to be broken up with.

"Well, every girl I've ever met is," he stubbornly replies every time, "Dude, (Rob never actually says dude, but I felt it worked for this little dialogue) I hope you're right, but I don't see it ever happening, women are just annoying. That's the way it works, dude (alright, dude overkill, I know).

Inevitably, she broke up with him. This time it took five years, and of course the sense of relief he should have felt was more like remorse, depression, and anxiety. I felt bad for him, but this was one of the best days of my life. (My wife knows that this day may actually rank higher than my own wedding day. She's ok with that. She has to be, her lights are open). I had my friend back and we could hang out again. For months he was kind of depressed, but that's the way Rob is. I don't think he's happy unless he's sad.

Then it happened...It started innocently enough. One of those speed dater nights. He'd gone a few times before, but he only met regular women who "liked buying candles" up to this point. This time was different. Not at first. At first it was nothing. He got a few phone numbers and a few email addresses, but nothing to write a blog post about. He called a few of the women, made a few dates, wrote a few emails, but then he went out with her. Yeah, Her. The Her. Not just a her. How do I know? Listen..."So, I went out with this girl last night," Rob tells me.

"Oh yeah, how'd it go?"

"Great."

"Great?"

"Yeah, great. I really like her. We really hit it off."

"That's good."

"No, really. We really hit it off. I think I really like her a lot, dude (Ok, I know I'm getting carried away with the whole creative licence thing).

"Why do you say that?"

"She was so cool. It was like hanging out with one of the guys. We had a ton in common. We talked almost the whole night, then she wanted me to call her this morning and we talked for another couple of hours."

"Aren't you supposed to wait a few days to call?"

"Are you?"

"I don't know, I'm married, I never call anyone."

"She told me to call."

"I guess it's alright then."

"Are you sure?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"Anyways, I didn't want to hang up. I just had so much fun talking to her."

"She didn't annoy you?"

"No. Can you believe that?"

"No."

Awkward pause during which I tried to think of a football question to ask him.

"Is she hot?" That has nothing to do with football, but I'd decided to test him.

"She looks pretty good, but that's not what was so cool about her..."

An interesting response that threw me for a second.

"What about her breasts?" I interrupted.

"What about them?"

"Big?" The test continued.

"Well, I'm sure she has two of them, but I really wasn't thinking about that. Oh, we had this awesome conversation about...."

This is not the Rob I know.

"Did you talk about doilies?" I interrupted. Doilies are one of Rob's biggest pet peeves, I think he actually has some sort of doily phobia. I've never seen him look directly at a doily. They make him nervous.

"No."

"Small porcelain collectibles?"

"No, why are you asking..."

"Did she insult anyone?"

"Dude (this time he really did say dude), stop with all this, I'm trying to be serious. I really like this girl. I really want this to work out. I think she's really into me too."

He went on to answer all of my questions and even knew the answers to my wife's inquiries, and hers were much better than "did you talk about doilies?" Maybe it isn't translating here, but my little Robby is in love. No, he didn't come out and say it, but I've known him for twenty-five years, and he's never talked this way about a girl before. I've been telling him for years, there's someone out there for him. I explained a million times, you have to stop worrying about cup size and start looking at who a person is. There is someone out there that will make him forget about all that superficial stuff, someone who fits his hefty criteria. Don't settle for just any bimbo who didn't break up with you yet, find the one. Find Her, not just a her. I don't know for sure yet, it's way too early, but I think he may have done just that. Maybe, just maybe, his lights are finally open, dude.

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