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My adolescence was a time of divorcing parents and a loving, but absentee Dad. The genesis, therefore, of all my insight to women came from the only two relationship experts available: Bobby Snyder and Stuart Fenton. Four decades later I still seek their guidance. (That may explain a lot).

The pair is different as night and day, yet always agree on advice for me. What does that say? (Not that the men are themselves balanced: Bob’s on his second marriage and Stuart’s on his first dollar). Still, they know my insides, “get” me, and can urge when to hold them or when to fold them…with love. Oh yeah, and they usually nail it.

I, of course, had to be convinced.

It was in the 90’s. The ugly post-divorce/pre-sobriety period. There was drama in my dating…and I shared.

“She’s not for you, B,” said Stuart. “She’s nuts.”
“I don’t know if she’s nuts, but you’re wasting your time, “ Bob chimed. “Besides, you can do better. Just listen to Fenton.”
“But I like women with an edge, “
”Your wife had an edge,” laughed Bob. “Look what that got you!”

Stuart was neutralized…briefly. “Yeah, forget that…” (He always thought there’d be a reunion). Then Fenton went on a rant.

“I’m telling you she’s like Fatal Attraction. I’m telling you!”
“But…”
“Did you ever see the movie? No! You’re afraid to see the movie. Go see Fatal Attraction.  Baby! I’m telling you she’s Glenn Close and you need to stay away. She stalks you, B. She’s nuts!”
“Maybe the B likes being stalked?” Bob laughed. But Stuart, as impassioned as ever was worn out.
”Do what you want,” he shrugged, signaling an end to the discourse.

And of course they were right.

I stopped seeing her…eventually…but not before I’d been hit by both a fist and a frying pan. And not before I walked in on her with another guy. She was only wearing a towel—I didn’t see a frying pan.

This warm memory is noted because just this week I sought counsel with the boys again.

Last Saturday— bumping into someone that, (long ago), headed my short list….well, the call went to Stuart.

“I’m not sure,” he cautioned long-distance. “Let me think about it.”

Me being me, I demanded an immediate answer—instant gratification. Never mind that I hadn’t thought of her in years, but having just seen her— now I needed to know. (Still, Stuart wasn’t sure).
“What about _________?” I asked. “He’d know her story. Should I call him?”
”NO, NO, NO….You can’t trust him,” cautioned Stuart, like we were guarding atomic secrets. “Just wait. I’ll talk to you during the week.”

Well, we didn’t talk during the week, but yesterday, at 11 AM, Stuart phoned with insight.

“You can do better. She’s got some issues.”
(That, of course, was not what I wanted to hear).
“Maybe I should ask Bob?”
“Go ahead. But I just think that if someone is attractive and they’re alone there’s a reason….”

Stuart is Stuart; I am me. I met Bob for lunch.

Robert George did not hesitate: “Yeah, Fenton’s probably right…I’d let it go.”
I persisted: “But what if I bump into her…couldn’t I just sort of say ‘We should have dinner,’ and see what she does with it?”
“You could do that, but……………”

And then it hit me. It was ’96 and I was doing it again—ignoring the experts! Haven’t I learned anything?

Here I am, a young Bobby Bonds sitting in the Giants’ dugout with Mays and McCovey…and I’m telling them how to hit?

I don’t think so.

I’m not calling her this week, and if I bump into her, (which I won’t), I’ll just smile.

It’s nice to have smart friends.

This entry was posted on Sunday, December 13th, 2009 at 4:54 pm and is filed under Up From Dysfunction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.