Parker C.

When I was a kid, there was a popular anti-smoking campaign with Debi Austin. I found the ads very disturbing…

But  obviously not disturbing enough, because I was a smoker for nine glorious years. I now get a sense of pride, when I see that the anti-smoking ads have re-surfaced, because I quit for the 12th (and final time). Please spare me the round of applause or pat on the back. I am a firm believer that quitters never win and winners never quit. Now that I stopped smoking I have to endure those golden years of life when you shit in your diaper & forget your name.  Ya, ya smoking causes lung cancer, bad breath, wrinkley skin, etc. Pish-posh. Smoking has a major pro: rise in social capital.

Those freaky hole-in-throat ads fail to mention how much easier it is to make friends over a cigarette. Hey, got a light? I don’t see what the big deal is about secondhand smoke, we don’t complain about their carbon-dioxide emissions.

This is precisely how Parker and I met. On a cold, windy evening outside my university’s library I desperately tried to flick my bic, but shit wouldn’t ignite.  Cue my knight in shining armor. Parker sparked my cancerstick and it was love at first light.

We did the whole what’s-your-major-where-are-you-from small talk. I couldn’t tell what year he was, but it was abundantly clear that he was one of those people who took a looong summer break after graduating high school.  He wasn’t old (he was wearing a baseball cap); but he wasn’t young either (I think he had a receding hairline). Whatever. I’m not picky. He was smart, funny, blah blah blah. I, of course, went on a lovely little date with him. A concert. It was cute, who cares?

Date #2 was sushi, my fav cuisine. Unfortunately the sushi was  super gross. Like warm enough to crawl off the table before my chopsticks could pick it up. Then Parker laid it on me, Ella, I have a confession... Oh great. This should be good. What’s this guy got? A kid? A contagious disease? A warrant for his arrest? I’ve seen it all, not much can surprise me anymore. I’m not a student at your university. Okay, kinda creepy considering we discussed majors and the President D’s lack of humility, but that’s not too bad.

I’m not a student… I’m a professor. Uhhh. Well that’s interesting weird deceptive- eff I dunno, I was speechless. Sure I had a thing with Mr. Yang in high school, but this was different. Mr. Yang was hot and totally off-limits. Parker was mediocre and I was no longer under 18. Where’s the fun in that? I lost interest immediately. That is, until he said I’m not sure if this is appropriate.

Dangle forbidden fruit & I am bound to take a bite. Well, Parker, I can keep a secret if you can. But the thrill, the rush of sneaking around was short-lived. Parker started memorizing my school schedule & would conveniently pop outside of my classrooms smoking a cigarette. At first it was a cute coincidence, but it became unattractive pretty quickly. As I said before, the difference between creepy & cute is how mutual the attraction is. And taboo or not, I was not digging Professor Parker.

I once had a fling with a hot, foreign language professor. Yum. That was more adventurous, because when he spoke I hadn’t any idea what he was saying. Oh Massimo, you’re just a midnight snack, shhhhhh don’t talk back.

Not quite sure what the lesson here is, but I’ll try to pull one out of my repertoire ass:

• Lies are a natural part of the whole dating process. Maintaining the mystery can be a good thing.
• So don’t feel the need to let out your secrets over a spicy tuna roll.
• If you are going to date a prof make sure he can boost your GPA. Parker taught classes that had nothing to do with my major. Lame.
• Oh and if you find yourself dating a smoker & want to break things off, “I can’t be around smoke” works wonderfully.