The Rubber Glove

I recently read an amusing article about underwear – the kind that encases your entire midriff, squishes your unsightly wobbly bits and presumably deposits them somewhere less obvious. Women recounted traumatic experiences of struggling to peel the underwear off in a public toilet halfway through a date, to avoid embarrassment later if the date went well. I wondered if it was worse to return to the table hoping he would not notice the sudden appearance of a muffin top or to wait for an amorous interlude to be interrupted by the discovery of the Spandex, which can appear to the inexperienced eye as a chastity belt resembling Aunty Maude’s bloomers.

We go to great pains to make a good first impression and assume that, when the truth comes out (or hangs out over the Sass & Bide skinny leg jeans), whoever was the target of the Spandex subterfuge will not mind. Of course, they shouldn’t mind and, if they do, they are probably too vapid to be worth it. If my date wore a pair of child-sized Lycra bike pants under his clothes in an attempt to hide love handles, I’d be more concerned about his mental state than the love handles.

That got me thinking about “deal-breakers”. We all have different triggers for that fateful realisation; that moment when the chemistry dies and we think, “Absolutely not”. For some, that moment may come with the revelation of Spandex. Others may laugh off the giant underwear but be compelled to throw wine on their date if they mention that they voted for John Howard. No matter how long I may have harboured a secret crush for someone, if they cite Today Tonight as a source of authority on a subject, in that instant, all my previous swooning will be transformed into a desire to punch him in the face.

Our emotions are so fickle. Annie Proulx, in “The Shipping News”, described a wife’s altered feelings for her husband with the phrase, “her desire turned to hatred like a rubber glove turned inside out”. Revulsion can originate from infatuation. My brief foray into family law showed me that a person can despise someone as intensely as they once loved them.

Conversely, I like when someone surprises me and I suddenly see a glimpse of beauty in them that had previously gone unnoticed. The day I decided that I really liked my friend Tam was when we were strolling down the road and it began to drizzle. Tam walked up to a lady who was at the bus stop with her baby and held our umbrella over the pram until the bus came. In that moment, it was as if I had gotten a glimpse of who Tam really was and she had never looked more beautiful.

A similar moment occurred when I was riding on the back of my friend’s Harley. I was disappointed that, although the bike was making a lot of noise, we appeared to be going slower than the child riding a tricycle on the footpath. I yelled through my helmet, “Do you always ride like a pensioner?” and he replied, “No, I’m riding slowly because you’re with me.” I felt a sudden rush of tenderness toward him. I stopped whining and just enjoyed being looked after by someone who cared about getting me home with my limbs intact more than I realised.

The compression underwear may create a lovely silhouette but you never know when the rubber glove will turn inside out for someone. However, you also never know when you might do something that causes another to experience a rush of affection and see you in a different light. Cheers to those moments, I say.