Meditation on Dating, Fashion, and Fundraisers

My heart broke un petit peu when Leah told me she was going hiking with a guy named Peter that she'd met at her friend's wedding. It's not as if she doesn't have the right, or that I haven't been out on my own fair share of coffee dates, yet it pulls at the heartstrings just a little bit. I'm trying to be happy for her, but between you and me there's just the slightest bit of jealousy that lurks somewhere under my otherwise brave veneer. Of course, now I'll torture myself with the inevitable comparison between her dates and myself but as most people that try to unravel the rationale of relationships have already established, relationships are not rational beasts. It does, however, make me smile that she's getting out, away from her two favourite fixtures: the couch and television. Our relationship was frequently based around these two pieces of furniture, and at least part of me blames our breakup with the fact that our new apartment could only hold one small sofa, which was positioned in such a way as to make it difficult for two people to share and watch TV at the same time (the other part of me blames our breakup on her uncanny winning streak of our games of dominoes).

It's ludicrous, of course, to blame the decline of a relationship on a piece of furniture--but it's no less arbitrary than the crescendo of resentment leading to a split, brought on by forgetting to put the toilet seat down, or neglecting dirty dishes.

It's funny how little things can be compounded into catalysts for change. It's funny how much I miss sitting beside someone on the sofa.

I attended my very first fundraiser, the other night, my chief motivation being to catch up with a long-lost highschool/university friend. The fundraiser was nice, but strange. I didn't really get a good chance to catch up with Anna; she was busy satisfying her obligation as new executive director of the Gainey Foundation (www.gaineyfoundation.com). I don't resent her for that; they're trying to raise $2 million dollars in the next year, and the fact that she had left a complimentary $250.00 ticket at the door for me, so I could attend, probably didn't help the foundation’s financial efforts. For future reference, catching up with old school chums is best done over coffee, or drinks, or just about anywhere other than a social event that requires hob-knobbing. However, I need to tell you this about the fundraiser: I looked good. Damn good. Having lost a bunch of bulk, my Hugo Boss suit looks better on me than ever. Also, in the absence of being charged admission, I decided to spend some money on a real treat, a new pair of Cole Haan dress shoes. Despite my normal, self-described style of "outdoor-retail-dirt-bag," I clean up nicely (and I say this knowing that people typically say, “Oh, s/he cleans up well,” but I clean up beautifully) and have an appreciation for nice clothing and conventional style. My roommate was shocked to see me in my black suit and lilac shirt--the only tie he owns is from one of the snowboard companies he sells. I don’t know if this pertains to other urban centres, but in Halifax there exists something called, “The Law of the Lowest Common Denominator.” A law which states that no matter how poorly dressed you are for an event, fancy dinner or gallery opening, inevitably there will be someone in attendance dressed more shabbily than you—the law can be a godsend when you’re obliged to attend a function and forgot to get your suite pressed. I still dislike inappropriate attire, but the Law of the Lowest Common Denominator has stood me in good stead from time to time. But on this night, in this company, I dare say I was the best-dressed person there (I have yet to understand how “business casual” gets interpreted as “rugby shirt and khakis”). I was hoping to make a good impression on one of the organizers of the event as I'm hoping to join a public relations committee as a writer, for the Bluenose marathon, which he oversees. I felt out of place at this event at least partially because Anna was the only person I really knew in attendance. At least that’s what I had assumed until I ran into a girl at this event (“woman” now, I suppose) whom I had gone to highschool with for one year. It's slightly disconcerting to start a conversation with the following sentence: "Wow! It's been like...15 years!" Sweet Jesus, I hope those conversations don't happen too often, but I fear I've crossed the age threshold where I'll be having those conversations more often. Soon I'll be reluctant to ask after old friends' parents for fear that they've shuffled-off this earth. Still, the evening was kind of lost on me. Not being a hockey fan, the bevy of hockey legends that attended this event to bolster support for a great cause, weren’t recognizable to me; a fact that I’m sure risks my Canadian citizenship as I write this.

It was nice to get dressed up again. It’s been a while; I had forgotten that I pull off a three-button jacket with the best of them. I got home, tired from red wine but took more than a moment to pause in front of the full-length mirror and admire myself. It does the ego good, and despite being alone for the rest of the evening, I kept myself company with a smile on my face, confident that Leah’s date, Peter, could never look this good in a suit.