Why I Need A Trophy Boyfriend

So when you think of the 1950s and pop culture, it's pretty hard to not picture June Cleaver, making dinner for Ward and the boys. She always was the picture of elegance and grace. Her dresses flared perfectly and her hair was never out of place. She wore pearls to do dishes. She greeted her husband with a kiss and the newspaper so he could unwind as she slaved away in the kitchen. But June wasn't the only television mom with these responsibilities, plus more. I remember watching "I Love Lucy" in reruns and Ricky calling to tell Lucy the boss or an investor was coming home for dinner, so she'd best have everything ready. Chaos ensued for the sake of a story-line, but women of yore had the distinct responsibility of impressing the husband's boss. The promotion was generally on the line, and the hospitality shown by the wife would make or break the deal. That was her job, and even Lucy got Ricky extra funding for the Club.
Well, of course, the times have changed a bit, and more and more women are out in the workforce. Fortunately, my boss has been pretty impressed with me for the last 28+ years, but no amount of excellent dinners are going to get me a raise. Still, there are times when, as the professional and breadwinner in my home (plus the cook, maid, interior decorator, landscaper, accountant, handy-woman, etc., etc., etc.), it would be nice to have a little support so when such important social occasions arise I'd not have to go it alone.
So what's the latest occasion? I'm having dinner with the mayor.
Yes, the MAYOR. Of Los Lunas.
And OK, OK. For those of you who've been to LL, you might not be impressed, simply because it is a rather small community. But it's a pretty big honor.
And it's not just that I'm having dinner with him. I'm MAKING DINNER for him. And his wife. And really, it's more for his wife, and he's coming along, because she's my former teacher and a wonderful friend and mentor. She was just in a car accident a couple of weeks ago, and I called to see if I could do anything to help out. I didn't even realize her husband WAS the interim mayor until a week ago. Anyway, I've been meaning to have this wonderful woman and her husband over to see my home for ages. In a lot of ways, their approval is like my parents', because she was my mom at school, and her husband was a big part of the students' lives as well.
So, anyway, teacher and I were on the phone yesterday afternoon as I ran various and sundry errands, and we decided to set up a get-together. No big deal-- I'm sure I can come up with a delightful menu. But then I started asking about her husband's new political career, and I found myself volunteering to aid in the re-election campaign (!!!) and then everything took a serious turn.
Suddenly, I wasn't just Rachel, former student, honored to host the Vialpandos at my home for a quiet dinner and catching up on theatre, education, current events, and so on. For the last 24 hours, my thoughts have been consumed with campaign strategies and to-do lists. It's exciting to dust off the PR-side of my brain (and shake out the insulation for a while), but when that started happening, I started thinking about PR as it concerns ME. And for whatever reason, it seems the evening would go so much more smoothly if I had someone to co-host and take care of conversation and being charming while I put the dressing on the salad and make sure the place cards are arranged just so. But because I'm already June Cleaver/Donna Reed/Martha Stewart of the 21st century, I realized I need a trophy boyfriend.
Oh, of course the Vialpandos love me despite my long-running single-hood, and none of this would really matter to them so much, but I think it would make me feel a little better. But who in the world could I choose? I'm having a heck of a time finding a worthy candidate for the evening's festivities. It's like going to the Academy Awards alone. I've got to walk the red carpet by myself anyway, so it shouldn't be a big deal to sit by myself, but my picture in People Magazine would look so much better if I were to show up with say, George Clooney. But sadly, I don't know George Clooney. Not by a long shot.
So who would I even get? I started to review possible candidates. I immediately weeded out the guy who gets mad if we talk about anything but him and his High School State Track Championship (he graduated from HS about eight years ago) and the one who treats everyone he meets like a potential dollar sign. Boys with poor personal hygiene were definitely out, and so was the one who has the disgusting palate expander (not because he slurps so much as his general lack of discretion). The politically extreme aren't a great match for this kind of event, nor are the politically apathetic. So not only is George Clooney missing from my circle of male friends, so are many with basic motor skills and fully-developed frontal lobes.
Of course, it's not like all the guys I know are brutes-- they just aren't a good fit.
Remember my friend Jacob, whose writing I worship?

Well, the last thing I heard about him socially is that he has a cute little (and I mean SHORT )gf, so I wish him every happiness. Besides, he's saving children in Santa Fe, and he's generally too busy recording some political ballad or another to get in the trenches with local politics. (Just kidding JD-- you know I still think you're darling, right?)

Then, there's my friend we like to call Hot Mike. Another Platonic Ideal, Mikey is not available to co-host because a) he lives 600 miles away and b) he has a girlfriend. M's girlfriend actually is from my home county, but the chances of them being in town are slim, and the chances she'd give up her man for one moment are zilch. It's really a shame, because I've taken him to important corporate awards ceremonies in the past, and he was a champ. And better looking than anyone else. So there.

Oh, it really doesn't matter who I'd think of. There was always a problem.

Too broken up. :(

Too far away (don't think Ahmed really has too many frequent-flier miles, and why leave Egypt if you don't have to?).

Too engaged (above and below).

Oops! Too married, Sean!You'd think my friend Nathan would be ideal...

.... And I think he'd marry me to take away my reproach, but he's such a romantic, I think he deserves better than that. Even if it just would mean being my boyfriend for the evening. Plus also, he lives at his office (in L.A.) and I'm not sure his political ideals would necessarily align with those held by my honored dinner guests.

Andrew, on the other hand, is at first glace an excellent fit. He's informed:

And philanthropic (that's him building a well in Nicaragua):

But he is busy in grad school in Provo, preparing for the not-too-distant future when he'll need his own brand of June Cleaver (by the way-- when I told him I was volunteering for a political campaign, I could imagine him foot-noting the fact in his mental Rolodex for when HE runs for office someday).
My handsome, handsome friend Blair (pictured below with our married friend Gabe, singing a Backstreet Boys song to me on my 27th birthday), has a lot of charm, and has that nice quarterback confidence Ward tried to instill in Wally.

But the boy wears a lot of jewelry, and might come across as a used-car salesman.

Plus also, check out this picture from his Facebook page. He looks like a pretty tough bench warmer. (Just kidding Blair! I'm sooo still president of your fan club, and love you sooo much!!)

So it looks like my best option is....

ERIC CHRISTENSEN!!!

Actually, Eric is my friend who jokingly suggested we get married at 30 if we haven't found anyone else yet. He's two days older than I am, and we've got tentative plans to be married in the desert by a gypsy, with our friend Sexy Rexy singing "Lady In Red" for the music.

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't want you to think Eric is my last-choice. Not by a long shot. I don't want to sound creepy, so every day I do my best to not face-stalk him and suggest we don't wait the extra year and a half, but just elope now.

Here are some good reasons to love Eric, and why he'd be excellent at my dinner with the mayor:

* Eric is smart, smart, smart. Dangerously smart.

* Eric is handsome, handsome, handsome. And I'm not just saying that because he looks so good in front of St. Mary's in Krakow (a destination he visited upon my recommendation, and loved). Look at those eyebrows! And his earlobes! Perfectly respectable in Corporate America, and edgy enough to look good doing karaoke or participating in a poetry slam (not that I've seen him at either, but you know what I mean).

* Eric is charmingly political. Many times we disagree. He's kinda aggravatingly pro-Russian, but I think that's been moderated by the time he spent in Ukraine. I think we could come to a compromise by naming our second and third children Reagan and Kennedy (I'm still holding out for the name Jemima for baby no. 1).

* Eric is manly and loves sports. I used to not think this was a big deal, but his obsession with the Denver Broncos is one of his likable quirks. If he loved the Dallas Cowboys, he would have never been an option for me.

* Eric is funny. Sometimes he's a little mean, like the time he made me go out with his cousin Brett, but he's mostly just funny. I remember his diatribes on girls without chins. I remember watching "Pee Wee's Big Adventure" with him on Valentine's Day and the odd things he'd laugh at. I remember seeing a picture of him on the Halloween after J.K. Rowling mentioned Dumbledore was gay, and Eric's Albus costume was priceless. And, because he's a Mormon Democrat, there's always something funny to laugh about in connection to Eric's epic fight against the man.

Of course, there are plenty of reasons I'd be a great trophy wife someday for Eric as well (keep in mind, this list is not exhaustive):

* As noted above, I'm a domestic goddess.

* I'm certainly smart enough to keep up with him, and if not smart enough, competitive enough to do so.

* I'd still let him be besties with Eric Otto and Dan Milton and the other mean boys we've known since freshman year at the Brigham.

* Our children would be GUARANTEED a great head of hair.

* I'm fiercely good-looking (um, OK, fiercely might be a stretch. Sublimely?).

* I come with great signing bonuses-- house, car, job-security, a 401k, etc., to get us started.

* My PR background will certainly be good for his own political career, and, let's not forget--

* I have great contacts. I mean, hello, I'm introducing him to the MAYOR of Los Lunas.

That's my man!

PS. Thanks to all the boys gracious enough to not be mad that I posted/stole pictures of them for the sake of blog illustration.