A Woman's Survival Guide to Difficult Men: The Bearded One
Chapter 14: The Bearded One
Quick note: Chapter 13 ends with a mustache and a Corvette. This one opens with a beard and a marriage. If you’re into continuity, give the last chapter a quick skim before diving in.
Now I’m married to a guy with a beard. Funny, I hardly ever notice it. Beards are in vogue now, but Dean’s predates the hipster trend. I stroke it absentmindedly, happy he’s home after five days on the road. He’s so handsome. I kiss him goodbye and head to the office, stopping for a matcha latte at my local coffee joint.
“You were in here the other day with a tall guy, he had an Arabic tattoo on his arm?” asks the Iranian barista.
“Yes, that’s my husband.”
He nods and smiles.
“He’s cool.”
If Dean could see himself the way others see him, he’d stop being so insecure. Not only is he easy on the eyes, he’s just so – cool. A true bohemian, citizen of the world. Interesting, brilliant, talented, soulful. When he’s at his best, he’s surprisingly insightful and wise. Yet, he’s like an elephant afraid of a mouse. Painfully sensitive to what others think of him. Even someone’s energy can be too much for him. He’s so self-conscious at times that he forgets to crack a smile. It comes off as hostile or unfriendly.
“Smile,” I remind him when he looks a little too intense. Usually it’s because he’s worried or scared.
I’ve been accused in the past of seeming aloof. I’m better at faking my insecurities now. I’ve learned over the years how to perfect my game face, maintaining a soft, friendly smile so I seem more approachable. It’s a work-in-progress.
Dean and I are on the therapist’s couch in our usual spots. Her eyes dart back and forth between us to assess our current vibe. We talk about Dean’s work, the kids, then finally we talk about us.
“I don’t really know why she’s with me,” Dean says. “I don’t think she likes me, I’m an aging dude with a big belly and a pile of debt. What does she get out of this?” It’s not the first time he’s brought this up. The therapist instructs us to face each other instead of her. I throw my hands up, feeling utterly at a loss and totally misunderstood. Is he trying to convince me to ditch him?
“Dean, I feel like no matter how many times I tell you I love you and like you, that you are my catch, my dream come true, you won’t believe me.”
Dean deflects. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“How does that make you feel, Pam?” asks the therapist.
“Really frustrated. Going on seven years and he still hangs onto the same story. I don’t think it has anything to do with me.”
Despite the fact that I tend to be critical and reactive.
“It doesn’t,” says the therapist, who angles toward Dean. “It’s about not knowing his value.”
I turn to Dean, “Sometimes I look at you from a distance and blush. You’re hot. Tall, handsome, exotic, sexy, smart and interesting. Sometimes I wonder why you are with me. I’m as insecure as you are. We’re mirrors.”
“That’s true,” says the therapist.
We’re all insecure little kids who want people to like us. Even a hotshot sportscaster.
When we get home, I jump onto my computer and log onto LinkedIn.
Me: Wow, Bill, this is blowing my mind. No matter how many times I tell you I was super into you, you’re convinced I wasn’t. In fact, I was insecure that you didn’t really take me seriously. I figured you were dating “real” women your own age in your “real” life. So interesting what the monkey brain tells us! :)
I remember back to 1987, people started treating me differently at the TV station once they caught on to our liaison, like I was a bimbo. Brunette Barbie. A year later, interning at another Miami television station for the summer, Channel 5, I started dressing even more conservatively to be taken seriously. I got hit on by a coked-up news reporter who pretended to be my mentor. OK sure, we got high in the parking lot and swam naked in the jacuzzi of his apartment complex, but I learned some things. Like how not to end up drunk and stoned at your colleague’s apartment. So much for being taken seriously.
Fortunately, my supervisor never caught on.
“What are the chances you’d transfer to University of Miami and stay on staff here at Channel 5?” asked my boss.
“I’m flattered but zero,” I replied.
I finished up the summer internship, then headed back to Dartmouth for sophomore year and my first love.
**This is a work of fiction loosely based on true events. Names and details have been changed.