Jerry the “boy-man”* walks into the classroom in washed-out jeans with holes in the knees. He is wearing a blazer over his t-shirt, his hair is styled with gel, and he sports aviator sunglasses.
The message he wants to send is that he controls the world. And if his look didn't say it, his pompous tone makes it clear he thinks he is above it all.
Women swoon over him, adding to the air bubble that is his inflated ego. He walks with his shoulders squared, oozing an air of supremacy.
He enters class late, expects extensions on his work, and acts as if he is entitled to all these treats just because he is breathing.
His smile, as he knows, can make a girl’s breath hitch, and he uses this knowledge every chance he gets.
He’s that guy.
And Jerry is proud of being that guy. He likes what it gets him.
But Jerry made a crucial mistake one day—he opened his mouth and his vile, uneducated views flooded out of his lips: “I’m never dating a woman who’s past her prime,” he said. “Varicose veins are enough to keep me away. I won't ever date a woman over forty.”
A classroom is not the place to share your feelings on dating. Nor is a class with fifteen women the place to attack women’s bodies.
But Jerry has balls. He doesn’t care. He said what he said and has the detached nonchalance to back it up.
After a few of us lose our shit with him, the instructor gets us back on track, and Jerry seems unscathed.
But when he is old and grey, I hope he realizes that appearance isn’t everything. I hope he learns that imperfection is, in its own way, kind of perfect.
* Names have been changed.