The Perfect Match
Back in 1992 I was living in Little Falls, NJ attending art school. When home, I would often set my easel up outside and paint. One of my neighbors was a biker named Frank. He liked my paintings and we would talk whenever we saw each other.
That summer he was going to have a party and invited me. I was happy to be invited but I wouldn’t know anyone, they’re all bikers. So I declined. Besides I didn’t have any tattoos, since my mother had tattoos, the rebel in me resisted the urge. Plus these were real bikers, not 40-year-old accountants who had a mid-life crisis, bought a pair of leather chaps, a Harley and pretended they were tough guys. So I didn’t think I’d fit in. Oh, and I almost forgot, I already had plans to meet up with a girl for a date that same day.
Well, the day of the party the girl I had a date with was missing in action and I couldn’t get in touch with her, so I took my easel outside and began to do another painting.
While I was painting two great looking girls, a blonde and a brunette, were walking around lost and I had a hunch they were probably looking for Frank’s party. I yelled out to them, “Are you looking for the party?” They responded, “Yes!” So I pointed them in the right direction.
I immediately packed up my easel, threw everything into my place and headed to Frank’s party. His apartment was packed with rough looking characters. I noticed the hot blonde at the food table. She was talking with a baldheaded biker who had a tattoo of a bullet going in one side of his head and another tattoo of his brains blasting out the other side. So, she was off limits.
Your friendly neighborhood bikers
Then I began to do what I learned to do in situations where I didn’t know many people and felt uncomfortable; I asked the host if he needed any help? He did, so was able to keep busy. I picked up empty bottles and empty plates as I introduced myself to the bikers and their girls. Every time I passed the blonde or the brunette I would give a friendly wave, “hi.” I was beginning to have a good time. Well, except when I would catch a glimpse of myself in the big mirror Frank had hanging in the living room.
I made a bad judgment call a few days before the party and got one of those, long on top, one length, Michael Hutchence, the lead singer from INXS, haircuts. But mine came out more like, Moe from the Three Stooges. Most of the time, I was able to avoid looking at myself in the mirror and remain in denial, until one of Frank’s friends, “Joker,” who met me sometime before the haircut yelled out from across the room, “What the hell happened to you? Why did you cut your hair like that, man? It used to look good!” Thanks, Joker.
Anyway, I was by the bar to see if the old guy mixing drinks needed anything when the gorgeous brunette made her way over and sparked up a conversation with me about art. Apparently, I was the reason she was at the party. Frank’s girlfriend was the brunette’s beautician and told her that I was a “famous” artist and would be at the party. I wasn’t famous but was flattered. Then she asked me if I frequented “the Met?” I knew she meant the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC. Of course I’ve been to the Met, “Yes.” She immediately told me her favorite gallery at the Met was the, “Egyptian,” something or other, I can’t remember. Then she went right into rambling off historical dates, periods, dynasties, and an entire history on Egyptian art. I had no idea what the hell she was talking about, but I looked interested. When she was all done she looked right at me and asked, “What’s your favorite gallery at the Met?” Ought oh.
The Met
I immediately started thinking, she is smart and great looking, so, I better pretend I know what she is talking about and say I like some important gallery at the Met too. Should I tell her I like the modern art gallery? What if it’s not called that? Maybe I should just pretend to love whatever she said; I’ll just repeat the stuff she said back to her. But I really wasn’t paying close enough attention and could never repeat any of those hard to pronounce words she was saying. So I finally gave in and blurted out, “My favorite room at the Met is the bookstore!” She was silent and looked at me like she didn’t hear me correctly.
But, and this was surprising even to me, I didn’t care, It felt good, because it was true, I loved the bookstore! I loved looking at all the books, souvenirs, interesting toys and gadgets. It felt so great to just tell the truth that I continued to describe everything I enjoyed at the Met bookstore. During my enthusiastic descriptions, the blonde had made her way over to join us and was listening too. Once I was finished, the blonde asked me, “Are you talking about the bookstore at the Met?” Still feeling great, with a big smile on my face, I said, “Yeah!”
Then she smiled and said, “My uncle manages that bookstore.”
They even have a paper Dali
Can you believe it? We started talking about what a coincidence that was, then more about the bookstore and her uncle. She told me how she lived in New York City and her friend, the brunette, dragged her to the party because her friend didn’t want to go to it alone. But the most significant thing she told me was, the guy with the bullet tattoo on his head was just someone who struck up a conversation with her at the food table, not her boyfriend.
That was seventeen years ago and the blonde and I have been together everyday since. Seventeen years, even we’re amazed it’s been seventeen years. I’ve been in relationships that were seventeen days that felt like seventeen years. I still can’t believe how lucky I am, and extremely grateful, that I just told the truth. If I lied to impress the brunette I would have been in the wrong relationship, and probably alone today.
It amazes me how a little lie to get what I thought would be good for me would have ruined my chance of getting what turned out to be perfect for me.
Everyday I wake up and see my beautiful little wife, Lori, I am reminded that honesty is the best and quickest way to get what is truly meant for me and motivates me to just be me, honestly.
It's nice having Lori in the picture
