“Hi. I’m an upwardly mobile, middle class, heterosexual male who couldn’t help but notice you’re sitting at the bar alone. I’m of mixed Scottish-South African descent, a unilingual Vancouverite with no firmly held political beliefs, although I did vote Conservative in the last three federal elections — can I, uhh, buy you a drink?”
“Generation X?”
“And proud of it!”
“Sure.”
SWM sits next to the woman — whose status has yet to be determined — as a romantic song is played in the bar. The song is being blasted at about twice its most effective level. This forces everybody in the bar who is attempting conversation to shout at each other, further dampening the romantic effect.
“Yeah, me, too. I’m divorced, stuck in the middle class and heterosexual, but adventurous, and you strike me as really cute. I’m a feminist, female, Libra — a combination which I freely admit is trouble — especially because of my Italian Catholic background. I’m a bilingual Torontonian, liberal leaning, vegetarian who practices Buddhist meditation.”
“You’re divorced?”
“Yeah. My ex was supposed to be a real catch: an upper middle class — and climbing — white, recovering alcoholic, PhD student from an English Protestant family. He was left-handed, first-born and heterosexual — oh, my, was he heterosexual! –“
“Uhh, yeah, so, what happened?”
“I helped put him through university, then the bastard left me for a single, white, teenage, female, a mixed Cree-Chippewa native with a slight lisp originally from a Reserve in Northern Ontario.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I should have known better — the guy was a Cancer…”
“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?”
“I’m talking about his star sign.”
“Oh.”
“And you?”
“Oh, I don’t believe in astrology…”
“I meant have you ever been married?”
“Oh. No. I was engaged once, to a happily middle class manic-depressive Irish Catholic who grew up on a farm in Alberta. She wore glasses and was a tail end Baby Boomer –“
“An older woman, hunh?”
“Yeah, but we had a lot in common. She was a pro-family, anti-feminist, anti-abortion, staunch conservative chain smoker.”
“And what you had in common was…?”
“We both liked Seinfeld.”
“Oh.”
“Well, you have to compromise to make any relationship work, right? I mean, it’s easy to say I’m looking for a single, white, upper class, English speaking, Generation X female with an average IQ from a Protestant family with conservative leanings whose only ambition in life is to be a wife and mother — but that doesn’t mean I’m automatically guaranteed I’m going to find her, right?”
“I know what you mean. I used to think I was looking for a short, balding, neurotic, middle class, American, Jewish male MENSA member. Then I saw a Woody Allen movie, and I realized I was just — well, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I thought he was pretty good in The Front.”
“I wouldn’t know… Hey, what’s your sign?”
“I don’t know — I told you, I’m not into that.”
“Well, when is your birthday?”
“In July — July eighth.”
“Oh. Listen, thanks for the drink, but, uhh, I gotta go. I promised my father I would give him a call — he’s an aging, widowed, lower middle class, male, Baby Boomer who is losing his hearing and is always worried about his pension. And you know how they can be!”