Antique Man

My desire for the ultimate in manly thrills has grown. Classic bowling reruns, on ESPN2, just don’t do it for me anymore. Searching for a new level of adrenalin pumping excitement, I recently spent lunch doing recognizance at antique stores.

One of the first things I noticed was a lack of other men in most shops. Several shops had male curators but none shopping. I obviously had ventured into uncharted waters.

Secondly, women would make only brief eye contact. With a scared little smile they averted their eyes and quickly moved away. I wondered when the fog would appear, accompanied by tension-building music.

I followed this older woman a little way toward one shop. Before she could even reach the door, she shot me a number of those looks over her shoulder. It was as if she thought I was some perverted philanthropist. I could just imagine her thought bubble reading, “He’s going to force a thong on me!”

I suppose she really tensed up when I followed her into the first vignette.

As I entered to look things over, I was thinking only one thing. I wanted to see if those legs went all the way up. It was such a nice looking piece. As I was peeking underneath, I thought, “How could she think I was a pervert?” I’d have jumped on that table right then and there if it wasn’t for all the numbers to the left of the decimal.

I did mention I was looking for a breakfast table, didn’t I?

At the next store, I got out of my car at the same time as another lady. Heading to the front door, she struck up a conversation with me. Considering my last experience I thought this either demonstrated the truly friendly character of this part of town, or it was merely nervous chatter until she could get inside. Once there, she’d alert the others to my widely spreading perceived criminal mind set.

However, it was here I spotted something fascinating. Another guy.

My inner stalked-female immediately arose and silently screamed, “Perverted philanthropist!” Taken aback by this unknown characteristic, I fanned myself rapidly with both open hands and billowed my shirt a time or two seeking to cool off.

I watched him thinking he might be a true Antique Man, something anthropologists heretofore had only speculated about. He was checking out objects on the walls of each grouped setting. Those things standing on the floor simply didn’t interest him. He apparently was looking for some small intimate piece.

Then it struck me. Here was no Antique Man. This was Messed Up Man.

As sure as modern antique production was thriving, here was a man who had messed up in his relationship with a woman. Finding him here, I knew he must be in terribly deep.

While trying to appear like the suave Antique Man, he was actually looking for something to save his fanny. I pitied him, knowing his was a tough row to hoe. He was still searching as I left the shop.

Heading to the car, it occurred to me that I had just witnessed a life lesson. Here was a man who had wronged someone and in his obvious spirit of contrition was seeking the thing he knew she would like. Something unique. However, this poor soul was confusing unique with expensive.

Guys, here’s what we can take from this. When you mess up with a woman, go to an antique store. It’s a mind clearing experience. Looking at just a few prices, you’ll quickly come to your senses telling yourself that a card and some flowers will hurt you a lot less and will do just as well.

Start the expensively unique habit and you’re liable to have to get a second job no matter how well off you are right now.

Remember, it’s the simple thing she’ll truly appreciate. Wouldn’t you agree that there’s not much simpler than one of those thongs?

© 2006 Michael Wicinski