Learning from detachment
December 13, 2006
Aspen, CO ColoradoMy friend Becky is a man-eater. She has this amazing ability to turn even the most arrogant guys into whiny little girls. It’s seriously one of the most unbelievable things I’ve ever seen.I wrote about Becky last week when she was here for a visit, but I barely scratched the surface. She arrived on Tuesday and I’d written the column on Wednesday. By Friday, she claimed three victims as if to prove my point. I figure us girls can learn a thing or two from her, so I’ll go on.Becky goes through dudes like no woman I have ever known. Yes, she’s good looking, with long legs, good hair, and a handsome face. But that’s not where her power lies. Becky’s like a guy – she’s not really all that interested in getting tied up with the emotional stuff. She fulfills her needs and moves on.It’s not that she’s cold or stuck up or mean. It’s just that she’s mastered the art of detachment. It works out well for her. She takes all that energy most women spend stressing about dudes and puts it into her own business, which is on the fast track to becoming an empire. She’s killing it. I’m impressed because her ideas are so out there, that for awhile I wasn’t sure if she was brilliant or crazy. Then again, I love brilliant crazy people.For some reason, the detachment thing always catches the guy off guard. That seems sort of ridiculous since most the guys she devours have probably been doing the same thing to women their entire lives (thus the reason I have zero sympathy for them). You would think they’d have some clue as to what’s going on, but noooooo. They’re so clueless it’s embarrassing.”Who was that?” I’d ask when her phone rang at nine o’clock in the morning.”That was The Banker. The guy from last night,” she’d reply. (One of the rules of detachment is never giving your victim a name).”Already?” I’d say, wondering what The Banker would do if she’d been the one to call him a mere 12 hours after they’d met. “Seems a little desperate, don’t you think?””Totally, dude,” she’d reply.There was also The Sommelier, a guy she’d met on the plane. The Sommelier works at one of Aspen’s crappy, overpriced restaurants I never go to because I’ve acquired a pretty good radar for bland food dressed up on a fancy plate, accessorized with a little balsamic drizzle and sprig of basil. I avoid most those places unless someone else is buying. When you’re with Becky, someone always is.So we go to his restaurant and spend an hour or two drinking free wine and somehow that is the equivalent of throwing a lasso around the guy’s neck, throwing him to the ground, and hog-tying his hands and feet together. The next thing you know, he’s gone from Sexy Aloof Guy to Blithering Idiot, sending Becky these inane text messages that say things like, “Men and women should have a mating season like dear [sic].””What the hell does he expect me to say to that?” Becky said, rolling her eyes. “Okay, dude, I’ll come right over so we can mate!”Guy three was The Tourist. He was an easy target because Becky knew she wouldn’t have to see him again. Except she made two little boo-boos: She left her favorite fleece at his condo and hooked up with him on the first night of his visit instead of the last. That gave her all of one weekend to turn his heart inside out so he was convinced he could not possibly live without her.He called incessantly and was thrown into despair when she ignored him.”Look, dude, you’re just visiting,” I overheard her say. “I have a lot of people I want to see. Sorry, that’s just how it is.”When she didn’t see him before he left, he sent her a text message that said: “I know how you like radio silence. I just don’t want to misinterpret. Can you please acknowledge receipt of the last text and I will assume the rest. Sorry, I am big on closure.”Radio silence? At least this guy could spell.When she didn’t respond, he called her. At the end of the conversation he said, “Have a nice life,” and hung up. That made Becky laugh.Meanwhile, Becky was traveling with her friend Hannah, who is also beautiful, six feet tall, and has the longest legs I’ve ever seen. If I were a guy, the legs alone would spark all kinds of ideas.The only problem is, Hannah doesn’t see herself that way. “Isn’t it fun being with Becky?” she asks late one night when Becky dragged us to yet another bar at 1 a.m. on a Monday. “Isn’t it fun being invisible?”As far as I was concerned, being invisible was a good thing. It meant no one would be handing me a bill.During one of our many free meals, Hannah was visibly distraught. She told me the dude she’d been seeing had had cheated on her, but they were working it out. She liked him, she said, because “they could talk for hours” and “no one made her feel this way.”Feel what way? Like crap?I can think of a thousand examples with a thousand different women who are in the same boat. They’re all beautiful, sexy, and successful yet they choose men who treat them badly, who drain them of the confidence and self esteem that’s rightfully theirs.Except for Becky. A mutual friend of ours said, “That’s just how Becky is. She’s like that genetically.”I disagree. It’s not DNA. It’s attitude. While most women try to reflect themselves in men by looking to them for approval or validation, Becky’s the one holding the mirror, melting these guys with what they see.The Princess thinks text messaging is lame. Send e-mail instead to firstname.lastname@example.org.
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