I have one rule for men, and it goes the same for shopping: Don’t buy it unless it’s perfect.
Maybe that’s why I’m 29, single, British and living in New York.
The idea of getting married and settling down makes me nervous.
It’s not that I don’t want to get married. What could be better than clinching the man of my dreams? It’s the idea of being thought of as someone who wants to get married that I hate.
I blame a friend who once told me that when a woman turns 25 she automatically develops a terrifying glint in her eye – one that begs, “Marry me, NOW!”
All sane men run from it.
For four years I’ve regularly stared at myself in the mirror, scouring to see if that look has appeared.
But Aggie Jordan, in her book “The Marriage Plan,” tells me to put my worries aside. She says if you want to get married, admit it and stop waiting around. Treat it like getting a job.
Set a date for your wedding, no more than a year away. Draw a profile of your man. Be up front and tell him.
Sure. I’ll do anything once. After all, a winter marriage in 2001 would suit me fine. I’d wear white fur. Lanterns would twinkle in the snow.
Drawing the profile of my perfect man is easy, too. Derek Jeter’s looks combined with early Sean Connery panache. Jim Carrey’s humor. Top it off with Steve Jobs’ intelligence and style a la Jude Law.
OK, so the order is tall, but Jordan says have confidence in what you want. Stick to your guns. Don’t give “partial profilers” a second date.
But now comes the horrifying crunch: telling the man you just started dating you want to get hitched within a year.
* Attempt One:
Journalist (Wall Street Journal), bright, polite, looks (not exactly Derek Jeter), job in common (is that all we have in common?).
The location: Blue Water Grill in Union Square.
I eat steak tartare (nervously), he munches on Caesar salad (unsuspectingly).
Conversation: The election fiasco, Hillary’s ridiculous pantsuits, skiing in Vermont. I get revved up for the big “M” moment.
“MMM Marriage,” I practice under the cover of the wine list, then plow in with, “There’s something important I want to say.”
He looks up – just as a waiter appears. Oh no, not in front of him as well.
“What’s up?” asks my man (painfully innocent).
“Um, I’d like, I’d like . . . another bottle of red wine.”
Damn. One more glass, then I’ll give it a shot.
I remember the Marriage Plan’s advice: “You may be discussing someone else’s getting married, or you’ve been to a movie about romance and marriage. These can be easy segues into telling him about your desires and your goal.”
“I heard from a couple of friends in England this week. Seems everyone’s getting engaged,” I try.
His reply, “Don’t you hate that? Why does everyone always want to get married when they’re approaching 30? It’s so cliché. And so desperate.”
He said the killer word. I’m keeping my mouth shut now.
* Attempt Two:
Ballet dancer (not gay), body (wow), sensitive, quiet (a little too quiet), doesn’t seem to get my jokes (maybe it’s lost in the British-to-American translation).
Location: Lot 61 in the meatpacking district (inappropriate?)
I drink wild berry martinis (copiously), he drinks beer (contentedly).
Conversation: “The Nutcracker,” Spanish cuisine, tights.
Revving up for a good M moment. MMMM, MMMM.
“‘MMMM?’ You want another martini?” he asks.
“Yes, exactly,” I say, too drunk now for the important topic of nuptials. He’s cooking me dinner tomorrow. I’ll let it wait.
And wait and wait.
Ballet dancer does not call again. Must have been that look in my eye.
* Attempt Three:
Screenwriter (could be rich one day), looks (cute), witty and cool.
Location: The Karma Cafe, East Village.
Conversation: DJs, living on Staten Island (no joke), Milan Kundera’s “The Unbearable Lightness of Being.”
I drink Bud Light (cautiously), he drinks a piña colada (turnoff or what?)
This time I’m not waiting around.
“You know, I would really like to get MMMMMarried this time next year,” I say. “Do you think that’s weird?”
“No, no, not at all,” he gushes. “If you meet someone as surreally enchanting, out-there, cosmic, mind-blowing as you, who wouldn’t want to talk about marriage? I can really feel it – we’re written in the stars.”
Why does the word stalker come to mind? I think it’s time for the check.
I’m beginning to think my theory on men isn’t so bad. Marriage? I’m not buying it.