Why Women Put Perfume On Their Wrist

Have you ever witnessed patrons at a restaurant leave the table with wine still in their glasses or a nonempty bottle left behind? Who are these maniacs living among us? I guess I am being judgmental because I waited tables when I was younger, and I remember the amount of study and preparation that went into a proper wine service. I was required to be competent in assessing customer taste, food pairing, presenting, procedure and tools to open a bottle of wine at the table, decanting, and different pouring styles of red, white, and sparkling wines. Careful not to over stimulate the bubbles for sparkling wine and make sure to keep at least six inches distance between the bottom of the glass and the bottle opening to allow the wine to aerate as it pours.

‘All that pageantry and you are just going to leave it behind? Cork that bad boy up and take it home!’ I would think to myself.

On this particularly awful first date, that I hope I will remember for the rest of my life, I did just that. I casually finished the merlot that was in my glass, grabbed the half full bottle, and escorted myself out the front door.

My mother and children were waiting for me when I arrived back home. The kids were not expecting to see me until they awoke the next morning. It was heartwarming to come home to their excitement, take off my heels, get out of those ridiculously restricting clothes, and watch television in bed until they fell asleep.

‘This is where you should have been the whole evening’, I scolded myself.

After the kids fell asleep, my mom was still awake. We sat in the kitchen and I poured the remaining bottle of merlot for us and shared a memory with her.

“When I was a little girl, I saw you putting perfume on and asked why you put it on your wrist. Who is going to smell your wrist? Do you remember?”

Mom shook her head uncertain.

“Well, Anna was watching me get ready tonight. I let her smell my perfume, then put a little on my wrist and asked her, ‘Do you know why women put perfume on their wrist? In case you let a gentleman kiss your hand...’ and picked her hand up and kissed it. She loves to watch me put on my makeup, brush my hair, polish my nails, try on different dresses and heels and I cherish it. Tonight, I realized her attention is my favorite part about any of these dates I have been on.”

“So, what happened?” Mom seemed equally as disappointed.

“A wake-up call. I am done with dating life. It is unfair to women the amount of effort we put into presenting ourselves to the opposite sex and most times it is completely not worth it. He brought me to a charming Italian restaurant which should have been in one of those classic mobster movies; dimly lit, candles inside chianti bottles, linen tables clothes, Dean Martin playing in the background. It felt vintage and I loved it. Until I was struggling to keep his attention after we placed our order. Then, halfway through the appetizer he propped one elbow on the table and was resting his head on his hand. I didn’t even get my salad before he had fallen completely asleep.”

My mothers’ mouth was agape, and she looked horrified. I originally thought describing the evening as horrifying was too dramatic but given her expression, it was the perfect description.

“Asleep at the table? Sitting up? What did you do?”

“What a lady should do, took the merlot and walked out.” We clinked our glasses together. “Looking back, I should have left earlier than the salad course.”

“I wonder what he thought when he woke up and realized you were gone? Did he call?”

“He called but I didn’t answer. He sent me an apology text and wanted a do over but there will be no do over. What happened tonight will never happened again. I need to get my priorities straight.”

The next day, that is exactly what I did. My kids were at their dad’s house and I used that time to plan ferociously. The weather was great, so I sat in the backyard with Grace Potter on my outdoor speakers. I got out my laptop and started planning, brainstorming, and researching. I deleted all my dating apps and blocked the contacts of all my past dates. I made spreadsheets, list, and calendars for everything I wanted to do on my own, with my family and with my friends. I organized different folders for kids, budgeting, vacations, exercise, diet, work, school, dancing, writing, skating, ballet, hula hooping, costuming, road trips, hiking, retirement goals, and anything else that crossed my mind and lit me up inside. I was planning to make it all happen. Even if it is only for fifteen minutes a day, a week, or a month. Even if I cannot do it today, this month or this year then, I will do it in five years, ten years, or fifty years from now. I needed to take back control of my life and finally start pleasing myself after seven years of marriage and six months of dating.

I was completely zoned in until I noticed a man standing outside my backyard gate and I screamed.

“Marie, it’s me.”

“Guy? What are you doing here? You scared the hell out me!”

“I couldn’t get ahold of you on your phone. I rang the doorbell, but you didn’t answer, and I heard your music.”

He was holding a bottle of wine. The same we ordered at dinner last night.

“I didn’t want to just show up, but I need to apologize in person. I messed up last night and I would like to make it up to you. We had a good friendship going for the past couple of months, we finally get to our first date and I ruined it. You deserved better. You have every right to be angry with me, but I am not ready for this to be over.”

Fueled by manic planning and Grace Potter, my blood was boiling as he spoke.

“How long did it take you to get ready for our date, Guy? Fifteen minutes? Twenty minutes? You know why men put in the effort of chasing after women's attention? Paying for dinner? Opening her door? Buying her flowers? Because she bought a new dress for him. She took her lunch break from work to go to the hair salon, then spent an hour getting ready and her mother drove an hour to babysit so she could leave her kids to be with him.”

“I know you are angry…”

“Stop saying I am angry. I am not angry.”

“You are disappointed?”

“I am humiliated! I felt like I was the prettiest woman in the room and had everyone's attention except you. When I got out of the car at the restaurant, I was fiddling around in my purse, but I could feel you looking at me and it felt good. When you told me I looked beautiful, I believed you because I felt it and that means something to a woman whose husband walked out on her. I could have had the personality of a mannequin for the whole first hour and I would have been completely justified because I deserved at least an hour of you trying to keep my attention and not the other way around. I was humiliated and ashamed for putting myself in that position to feel so unimportant and ordinary.”

“I didn’t prioritize you…” He tried to interject but I still had a lot to get off my chest.

“A couple of years back I started buying "sexier" things to wear around the house because I read an article advising wives not to come home after work and put on baggy clothes. To keep your husband interested and attracted to you because, obviously, taking care of our kids, our home, finances, and working full time is not enough to keep a husband’s attention. I did all the things you are supposed to do as a wife and partner. I was supportive, patient and understanding. I never got crazy or angry. Until I found out he was cheating on me. While I am at home reading ‘How to Save My Marriage’ books, he was off starting a relationship with someone else. At first, I was ashamed of myself for the crazy things I did and said when I found out my marriage was over but not anymore. However, I am ashamed of myself for last night.

“You don’t need to feel ashamed. It was my fault. You were the prettiest woman in the whole restaurant last night and I didn’t show it.”

“You know what I learned, honestly? None of that matters. If I am the prettiest in the room, if I am the crazy wife screaming at my husband in the middle of the street, if I am the supportive and understanding partner, if I communicate my needs or if I am a bitch. You told me you left your wife because she was miserable and made your life miserable. I gave my husband everything he wanted, and he left me because he wanted someone different. None of it matters because men will leave no matter what you do!”

At this point I was seething and crying. He put the bottle down and held me close to him. I let him hold me because I had just unloaded six months of unresolved emotions onto him. I realized then, it was not him falling asleep at dinner or all the other bad first dates since my husband left that made me want to give up on dating. I was not ready for that life, yet. I needed to make sure I was in a good place first before putting myself back out there.

“I am sorry, Guy. I am making you pay for every man in the world that ever did me wrong… but that felt so good!” We both laughed and some tension melted. “As you can tell I am not ready for dating. I need to focus on myself and my family for a while.”

“I agree, Marie.”

I started to turn around to walk him out when he asked, “What’s first on your list?”

“What do you mean?”

“You need to focus on you and your family. What’s the first thing you need to do to make that happen?”

He caught me off guard. “Well, um, I am working on weekly schedule to start writing again. I used to love to write.”

“Great! I’ll get my laptop from the car, and we can work together and share this bottle of wine.”

“I told you. I’m not ready for this.”

“Not ready to sit and have wine with a friend? I do not have to be your boyfriend, but I want to be your friend. I want you to take care of yourself and I want to help you do that. Even if it’s just for today.”

In all my hysterics, I almost forgot how pleasant Guy was to be around.

“Ok. I can handle a wine with a friend for today. I noticed that is the same bottle we ordered last night.”

“I went back to the restaurant to buy another bottle.”

“As a friend, I have to say, you could have saved money going to the grocery store.”

“I felt I owed an apology to the both of you.”

The next weekend, I made a reservation for three at the same Italian restaurant. My son waited in the living room while Anna and I were in our pretty dresses finishing our hair and makeup. I misted a delicate perfume on us and added a dab to her wrists and mine before we all left for dinner that evening.