The Price of Tea in China

I have been working like a mad, sniveling dog on something called a CPA-52. It sounds like a good time, doesn’t it? Right up there with Chinese water torture… in subzero temperatures… with Bill O’Reilly’s voice nattering in the background. For anyone that didn’t get that? I absolutely HATE these Bad Boyz From The Bottomless Pits Of Hell, as I have so affectionately started referring to them. (BBFTBPOH for short.) HATE.THEM. Like I hate alarm clocks, Dr. Pepper, and Chanel No. 5 first thing in the morning.

So I thought I’d change the subject altogether and talk about fun stuff. Like BOYS. And how my life is evolving right before my very eyes. I still can’t believe this particular topic has dared to be instigated in my home by someone other than my girlfriends or me. My nine-year-old daughter recently told me about a boy who gave her a note that read “I like you.” She then went on to describe this boy as nice, funny and…….. kinda chunky.

Now, before I get to the REAL point of all this, I feel compelled to tell you that I will NOT endorse my daughter holding this little guy’s hand. Or, God forbid, passing a love note back. Come to think of it, I do not want her to react in any way, shape or form to the “I like you” note, except maybe to say, GEE THANKS. The good news is that even THAT idea creeps the heck right out of her.

The real issue: The “chunky” comment, obviously. And what that has to do with the price of tea in China. Nothing grates on my nerves more than when someone is describing a person to me, and the descriptive words used have absolutely nothing to do with the story. A girl I once knew told me, “These Mexican kids knocked on my door the other day and asked if they could get a drink of water from my hose.” When I, in all my righeousness, pointed out that their Mexicanness was irrelevant to the story, she said, “Mexican isn’t a bad word, you know!” She went on to explain how it WAS relevant, but I didn’t catch it all because I had to mentally remove myself from the room… the ignorance she continued to puke up reeked to high heaven. It was making me dizzy and faint and I thought I might accidentally head-butt her on my way down to the floor.

So I NEEDED to address this issue with my daughter. Lest it drive me to drinking alone in the dark. “Why did you feel compelled to tell me he’s chunky?” I asked her. “Instead of, say, right-handed or smart or… totally unfashionable?”

She shrugged, and I could tell that she instantly regretted her choice of words. Or the fact that maybe it WAS part of the story. You know, maybe she just regretted divulging this information to me in the first place.

“Who do you consider cute? Like, a movie star or something,” she asked me later. I knew EXACTLY where she was going with this. The truth: Yes, I find George Clooney, Johnny Depp and Brad Pitt HIGHLY attractive as well as the next girl.

And then I admitted to crushing on the following guys MUCH more than the uber-popular ones:

Peter Dinklage:

The post-Blues Clues Steve:

Dustin Hoffman in the '70s:

And a Scottish dude named Ewen Bremmer that made a terrible, terrible mess in Trainspotting. (Sorry. No picture to be found.)

What exactly WAS it about them, she wanted to know. I kinda fell for Peter Dinklage when I heard his voice in a radio interview, if you must know. He was witty and gentlemanly and smooth as chocolate ice cream on a hot summer day. Maybe if I hadn’t heard him on the radio I wouldn’t have sought out his movie, The Station Agent, and then I would not have ever noticed his intense eyes and dimples and fantastic gift for acting. But I did. And so I did. And now I list him as one of my favorite Hollywood men. As for the post-Blues Clues Steve? Dude. He’s a musician now. Indie/Alternative, no less. He’s slightly older and I think it’s kinda sexy to see him looking all grown up with facial hair and a beer in his hand. The ‘70s Dustin Hoffman? It was the way he ran all the way to the hospital with his bleeding son in his arms. SWOON to the tenth power. By the way, I was as old as that kid in the picture when I saw it. WAY. The Scot? There’s nothing more to say. It’s the accent and the red hair. Natch. Okay, and maybe there’s something about his eyes that reminds me of the post-Blues Clues Steve.

In all seriousness, I know most people are guilty of judging others by their appearance. Myself included. I’m personally turned off by comb-overs, mullets and t-shirts that tout a love for handguns and cowgirls, so much so that I’ve been known to audibly snicker. But I hope to teach my daughter that I’d overlook all of that if they had nice radio voices, a visceral dislike for alarm clocks… and BBFTBPOH, of course. I think it says a lot about a person. So sue me because I don’t want my daughter to have a thing against chunkiness and yet could care less if she dislikes someone for their mullet.

Note to the note-passing kid: You’ve got some seriously good taste in the ladies. But while she’s a very cute, bright girl with a heart the size of a prize-winning melon, she IS kinda wet behind the ears. (Glory to God. And halleluliah for that.) She says you’re a nice boy, though, and so maybe you can cut her a break someday. She’s NINE after all. Speaking of which, this is all quite moot. She can’t date until she's 37. Thirty-seven and a half, actually.