I'd like to take a minute to thank all of the really great "wing men" out there. Heck, it's no small task to agree to approach two women, one who is attractive and the other who looks like she just went 12 rounds with Oscar De La Hoya and lost miserably. It's no fun knowing that your job is to woo the less attractive gal so that your buddy can sway the beautiful babe to come back to his place for a little spin the pickle. But you're willing to bite the bullet to help your pal because you know that tonight you're the wing man, and that's what a good wing man does.
But every so often, the wing man chokes. As his eyes dart from the beautiful babe to the scrapper, he realizes he just can't do it, isn't willing to gnaw on leftovers while his pal devours a gourmet meal. He suddenly directs all his boyish charm and subtle one-liners at the beautiful babe. He even stoops to pull out the old, "What do you think of this cologne I'm wearing?" If it's your wing man doing that, you suddenly realize, you've just been "rooster blocked." Your wing man has just turned sting man and he's going for the close. It's every man for himself—and you didn't spend 90 minutes and $20 on a round of drinks only to end up with Man Face, the beautiful babe's faithful companion.
So you pull out all the stops. You revert back to sixth-grade survival tactics and say, "I'm sure she's smelled Midnight Pastures before, Fart Face."
"Oh yeah? Well, you're the butthead who still thinks Hi Karate is sexy," he retorts.
And as Fart Face and Butthead stand nose-to-nose, belittling one another, neither is aware that not only did they lose the attention of the beautiful babe, but even her man-faced companion finds them pathetic. The beauty of it all? Once the dust settles, these two are able to laugh about it and engage in that disgusting display of male bonding: the high-five. Then they scan the perimeter for new targets. Once again, it's GAME ON.
I used to think it was hilarious to watch such scenes unfold—until I came face to face with the "Kitty Blocker." Not unlike her male counterpart, the "Rooster Blocker," the Kitty Blocker stands in the way of anyone getting what she wants. Which usually turns out to be ... the person you want.
My Kitty Blocker and I had been friends for years, but she was married—miserably, but married nonetheless. And thank God, because this woman is amazing. She's 5 feet 9 inches to my 5-4 and at least 10 pounds lighter. She has beautiful, long chestnut hair and amazing blue eyes. She's from France and has this adorable French accent that melts men like butter. As much as I wanted to put my arms around her and sing "Kumbaya" and celebrate sisterhood, I secretly hated her. Not in a bad wayl more in a Barbie-envy kind of way.
Then, as luck would have it—bad luck, that is—six months ago she got divorced.
Suddenly, I found myself thrown into the role of her man-faced companion. It was as though every time men approached us, I was to automatically assume wing-man status and let her have the better of the two. Which was fine, until I noticed a pattern.
Every time I'd mention I'd found someone attractive, the Kitty Blocker was on him like a cheap suit. Once, while waiting for our table at Red Square, the waitress approached us and said the tall man with the dark hair and blue shirt at the bar wanted to buy me a drink. I looked over and smiled, but before I could even place my order, the Kitty Blocker had excused herself to the restroom, only to return flaunting his phone number.
Then there was the time we ran into a mutual friend in line at the movies. I talked him into joining us to see our chick flick instead of the action thriller he'd planned to see. During the previews, he and I joked about a party we'd attended that totally sucked. The Kitty Blocker hadn't been there and felt a bit left out. I only say that because while we were talking about the flop of a party, I noticed her running her hand up and down his thigh, desperately trying to get his attention. When the beginning credits were over, they were making out like school kids.
The breaking point came when we were at Kona Grill and I mentioned that I thought the manager was sweet and quite handsome. Not 10 minutes later, I see her out of the corner of my eye, standing behind the sweet and handsome manager, running her hands all over his chest and squealing like a little piggy to ensure she had caught my attention. At that moment, the gloves came off, it was every woman for herself, and I'd be damned if I'd just spent 90 minutes and $20 on drinks, only to be Kitty Blocked again. But seconds before I was standing nose-to-nose and calling her Fart Face, I had an epiphany.
It occurred to me that as insecure as I felt around her, she must have felt equally insecure around me. Why else would she need not only to steal away every man's attention but to take actual pride in doing so?
Looking at her, I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. I realized I couldn't be mad at her, because once upon a time, I had been her. I, too, had been cast back into the hard, cruel world of dating after a failed marriage and was desperate to be the center of attention. I had to feel as though I were the focus of every man's desire to feel good about myself again, because after failing at the biggest thing I'd ever attempted relationship-wise, I desperately needed to feel wanted.
That attention wasn't healthy. After a year of being a kitty-blocking man-stealer and losing several girlfriends, I realized it's OK to just be yourself, that being a confident, classy lady attracts a better kind of attention. I'm sure she'll learn that lesson too. So for now, if I want to keep my Kitty Blocker as the good, solid friend I know she can be, I'll just have to be a good wing man. Because that's what a good wing man does.