Leaping Larry, the hot douchebag

Even in my early twenties, I preferred to date older guys. Yet when Larry contacted me online – barely in his twenties and beyond handsome – I set those preferences aside. He looked like chiseled perfection.

At first I wondered if his digital pictures were fake. But when we met in person, Larry looked like his photos and then some. He was an avid kickboxer and had the muscled body to match. He seemed so exceptionally unflawed that I reverted to my inner awkward teenager, downplaying my inner dork and hoping to look cool.

My self–doubts continued when it came to sex. Larry seemed more impeccable with every layer of clothing he removed, and to compensate my main task was well–rehearsed “O faces” and other sexy poses. It was worth it: At work I’d force my coworkers to look at Larry’s online profile. Just dating the textbook specimen wasn’t enough; I had to show him off.

On one of our budget–friendly dates, we went out for coffee followed by a stroll around the park. Before we could get one block into evening on foot, though, Larry and I witnessed a seriously ugly accident: a driver of a large pickup truck attempted a tight parallel parking job, misjudged the distance of the fancy sports car behind the spot he wanted and scraped his bumper across the top of the sports car’s hood. The truck driver didn’t notice what he was doing until the people on the coffee shop patio screamed and signaled him to stop. When it ended, the hood was covered in dents and scrapes.

Larry was excited. “Whoa, did you see that? The guy in the truck is going to get his ass kicked!” he said. I found it odd: not only did the car accident energize him, but the idea of a fight roused him even more. In my mind, the two distraught car owners should exchange insurance information with peace and compassion.

As the truck driver waited embarrassedly for the sports car owner to arrive, Larry continued, “if I was that guy, I would have driven off. And if I was the owner of the car, I would come kick this guy’s ass.”

Normally I would have countered with logic or babble on about Ghandi, but before I started, Larry struck a kickboxing pose and began leaping around, acting proud about the major damage he believed he could inflict on anyone who’d damage is car. Dancing out kickboxing moves and talking to himself, Larry became more of a spectacle than the accident, and I felt the need to usher him onward so he wouldn’t instigate an actual fight.

Embarrassed myself at this point, I realized that in addition to being attractive and smart, Larry was a douchebag.

It seemed clear that a peace–loving hippie like me couldn’t make it work with a testosterone–fueled fighter like Larry was. But he was too attractive to break up with, so I overrode my gut feeling and decided to stick with the eye candy, hoping I could change him.

Instead, our next date flopped. Within 24 hours of the coffee shop incident Larry put me on the chopping block with an excuse too far–fetched to take seriously. A perfect looking man like Larry probably had lots of experience with that, and flawlessly, Larry buttered me up as he let me down.

After I finally realized I had been dumped, I felt totally disappointed – not with Larry but with myself. I dated this guy on a purely superficial basis, and tried impressing him by being someone other than myself. Worse, I’d kept it going after I knew better; in this scenario, the real douchebag was me. And that was something worth never forgetting.