Alternative to Love
“It’s hard to argue against cynics – they always sound smarter than optimists because they have so much evidence on their side” - Molly Ivins
Hey look, I know I am an infamous cynic and rather scathing to boot. When I left London I thought maybe it would change – I would change - and that the cynicism was less to do with me and more a result of my milieu and surroundings. My time living in this glorious city hasn’t changed much. In fact it’s made me a cynic of even greater proportions, and a touch more jaded. I have two tales to impart – neither of them are particularly unusual for here and they give you a flavour of the libidinous climate in this city. One I heard about and the other I got to witness….in part.
Tale 1:
There lives in Moscow a young man - British, good looking, successful (banker/lawyer or something of that ilk) and an expat. He lives a pretty cushy life with his beautiful Latin American partner and their new new new baby (merely months old). Happy families one would have thought. I would have thought so too had I met them. As with all parents they sought the services of a babysitter (mum and dad have to have some time off…) and found a friendly and pretty 20-year old university student who seemed to be the perfect babysitter. Within weeks the new father began pursuing the baby sitter. At first she resisted and then finally capitulated succumbing to his whisperings of sweet nothings and the suaveness he possesses that is devoid in most Russian men. They copulate (for want of a better word). Several times no doubt. And a few weeks later the man and his partner head to South America for their wedding. Before their departure he gets a call. It’s the babysitter. She’s missed her period. He still boards that plane.
Tale 2:
I have a friend who works in an esteemed institution. She loves her job, but her boss drives her totally batty. He’s English (what is it with these Brits?!), not particularly attractive, in his mid 40’s (at a guess), a total omega-male and a bit of a nebbisha to be honest. I call him The PHILANDERER (my friend calls him the tool who knows nothing). He’s married to a rather pretty woman (who rumor has it, is a little high maintenance) from the Caucasus and they are parents to a young (very young) child. The PHILANDERER has been suffering at home for the last few months as for some reason his wife has been giving him a little of the silent treatment. No one outside the marriage knows who is to blame (maybe it’s that the wife is too high maintenance or maybe he is just too much of a nebbisha). Everyone knows about the troubles as he complains (to anyone who will listen) how he can’t really go home and how he’s worried his wife will leave him and take the child with her. It hasn’t taken long for The PHILANDERER to find pastures green. One random evening, a couple of weeks ago, in a bar he found himself a student. Had a flirtation (no bodily fluids were exchanged – I promise) and took her number. A week later he called her and agreed to meet up with her. I was there for the second meeting. Young student she may be, but she wasn’t the prettiest tool in the box, she looks a bit like a farmer’s wife to be honest (he’s no Bruce Weber subject by any stretch of the imagination). Why was I there at the second meeting? I had gone to meet a colleague of my friend. I hadn’t expected to see there boss there with the farmer’s wife. We sat there having beers and trying to ignore unfolding events: The PHILANDERER and the farmer’s wife making out at the table like 12 year-olds who have very little experience of making out, very little control of their saliva production and very little shame. The noise was unbearable. After an hour of this he walks her down to a cab and put her (no doubt further saliva swapping and groping ensued on the pavement). The PHILANDERER then comes back upstairs to our table and pulls aside his 23 year-old junior and asks this boy his advice on whether he should have gone home/slept with the farmer’s wife. I distanced myself at that point and headed home. There is something so fundamentally wrong with that picture – a 40+ year old man (and person of authority) asking a 23 year old boy (his junior) for advice on whether he should cheat on his wife. Alas the saga doesn’t end there. A couple of days later the 23 year-old junior gets an sms in which The PHILANDERER asks if he can use the 23 year-old’s apartment to sleep with the farmer’s wife. He was refused. He then approached other of his colleagues in the workplace, those who witnessed the snog-fest, and tried to get them to engage in conversations about his predicament. I’m guessing that as I type this many bodily fluids have been exchanged and the wife at home will have every reason to ditch him and run off with the kid.
But that’s not the point. Finally some validation for my well honed cynicism. The lesson to be learnt from these tales is that in this city morals, fidelity and loyalty account for nothing.
Tale 1:
There lives in Moscow a young man - British, good looking, successful (banker/lawyer or something of that ilk) and an expat. He lives a pretty cushy life with his beautiful Latin American partner and their new new new baby (merely months old). Happy families one would have thought. I would have thought so too had I met them. As with all parents they sought the services of a babysitter (mum and dad have to have some time off…) and found a friendly and pretty 20-year old university student who seemed to be the perfect babysitter. Within weeks the new father began pursuing the baby sitter. At first she resisted and then finally capitulated succumbing to his whisperings of sweet nothings and the suaveness he possesses that is devoid in most Russian men. They copulate (for want of a better word). Several times no doubt. And a few weeks later the man and his partner head to South America for their wedding. Before their departure he gets a call. It’s the babysitter. She’s missed her period. He still boards that plane.
Tale 2:
I have a friend who works in an esteemed institution. She loves her job, but her boss drives her totally batty. He’s English (what is it with these Brits?!), not particularly attractive, in his mid 40’s (at a guess), a total omega-male and a bit of a nebbisha to be honest. I call him The PHILANDERER (my friend calls him the tool who knows nothing). He’s married to a rather pretty woman (who rumor has it, is a little high maintenance) from the Caucasus and they are parents to a young (very young) child. The PHILANDERER has been suffering at home for the last few months as for some reason his wife has been giving him a little of the silent treatment. No one outside the marriage knows who is to blame (maybe it’s that the wife is too high maintenance or maybe he is just too much of a nebbisha). Everyone knows about the troubles as he complains (to anyone who will listen) how he can’t really go home and how he’s worried his wife will leave him and take the child with her. It hasn’t taken long for The PHILANDERER to find pastures green. One random evening, a couple of weeks ago, in a bar he found himself a student. Had a flirtation (no bodily fluids were exchanged – I promise) and took her number. A week later he called her and agreed to meet up with her. I was there for the second meeting. Young student she may be, but she wasn’t the prettiest tool in the box, she looks a bit like a farmer’s wife to be honest (he’s no Bruce Weber subject by any stretch of the imagination). Why was I there at the second meeting? I had gone to meet a colleague of my friend. I hadn’t expected to see there boss there with the farmer’s wife. We sat there having beers and trying to ignore unfolding events: The PHILANDERER and the farmer’s wife making out at the table like 12 year-olds who have very little experience of making out, very little control of their saliva production and very little shame. The noise was unbearable. After an hour of this he walks her down to a cab and put her (no doubt further saliva swapping and groping ensued on the pavement). The PHILANDERER then comes back upstairs to our table and pulls aside his 23 year-old junior and asks this boy his advice on whether he should have gone home/slept with the farmer’s wife. I distanced myself at that point and headed home. There is something so fundamentally wrong with that picture – a 40+ year old man (and person of authority) asking a 23 year old boy (his junior) for advice on whether he should cheat on his wife. Alas the saga doesn’t end there. A couple of days later the 23 year-old junior gets an sms in which The PHILANDERER asks if he can use the 23 year-old’s apartment to sleep with the farmer’s wife. He was refused. He then approached other of his colleagues in the workplace, those who witnessed the snog-fest, and tried to get them to engage in conversations about his predicament. I’m guessing that as I type this many bodily fluids have been exchanged and the wife at home will have every reason to ditch him and run off with the kid.
But that’s not the point. Finally some validation for my well honed cynicism. The lesson to be learnt from these tales is that in this city morals, fidelity and loyalty account for nothing.
posted by Pigeon Princess at Tuesday, February 13, 2007
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