Comrade Pollster Appoints The Unwitting

Last weekend my lover came to visit. It was a much anticipated trip that I initially felt had few expectations surrounding it.

Boy, was I wrong.

Weeks ago I had discovered I had a real need to be heard. This need is one of those tender spots located within a person’s innermost fragile cell structure. Everyone has a particular fragility. This is mine. Each are named differently. No one is allowed to make fun of it or question it. It is an unspoken rule.

My lover forgets things that I have told him. Between us, ironically, I am the ADD sufferer. Yet I find myself repeating the same stories. Repetition is a fate worse than surprise overtime.

Understand that when others speak to me, they have my undivided attention. If I may be so bold as to pose a question to you, whomever has eyes cast to this page; would you consider me high maintenance because I require the same undivided attention when I speak?


At work at the Cheer’s equivalent bar last night I was the acting statistician of an informal poll. Comrade Pollster. The inquisition in question was, informed by one’s experience with me and with situational examples I would later provide, could I be appropriately deemed High Maintenance?

I conducted this poll because I have been accused of many things, but never once have I had a finger pointed at this. Not, that is, until this past weekend’s finale.

The Unwittingly Appointed Illustrious Panel of Adjudicators:
1. Tim, a mid to late 40’s unkempt (only in appearance) film editor. Eloquent speaker.
2. Olaf, a mid 30’s groomed, yet tired from being in a dark editing suite for most of the day, ovo-lacto vegetarian composer. Gay, but posing straight.
3. Martin, born and raised in the east end, has never left the neighbourhood in all of his 36 years. Is juggling more than one girl, though is ”upfront” about it. Was not accepted into the traditional public school system. Refused to explain why.
4. Damian Sword, 42 but looked 36. Roommate to Martin. Adopted. Half Scottish, half Native? Chinese? Hard to say. It was undetermined even to him. Best name I’d heard all day.
5. Matt, 36, divorced survivor of a 13 year marriage. British. Often frequents bars alone. Slight chip, of the female variety, on the shoulder. Wants nothing to do with his ex-wife. Takes time to trust people. Highly developed gut.
6. Militia Man, 36, 5’8”. Boyfriend to my boss Kim. Separated from his 6’1” wife. Father of 2 boys. Gruff in manner. Heart of gold. Goes to Confession every Sunday.
7. Kim, my current boss. Atheist. Drunk, she last night accused me of being perfect. Again, I love drunk people. She threatened one of the owners of the restaurant, directly west of my new place of employ, that there would be hell to pay if they tried to steal me. It took her 12 years to successfully woo me to work for her. Bright and educated, she carries beautiful dinnerware and flatware within her tastefully decorated establishments, but eats off of chipped restaurant cast-offs and mismatched, bent-tined forks at the merely utilitarian digs she calls home.
8. Mark, a not unsexy addition to the inordinate amount of 36 year olds within this poll. Part owner of the restaurant next door. Part Hollywood screenwriter. Found the Comrade alarmingly hot. Professed his love for her. Lust was more apropos.
9. Rob, an excellent fellow, a year new to the neighbourhood, happens to be the creator of the best spliffs in the world. Taking weed, a dash of hash, a slight dusting of peppermint tea and wrapping it all in a chocolate blunt (in this case, a tobacco leaf dipped in chocolate), it is not dissimilar to smoking an After Eight.
10. Rob’s brother. Will deliberately remain nameless for the time being. Works for a high level security agency. Or something. I’ve learned not to ask too many questions with some folk. This is not the reason I’m not naming names. As I have made the recent decision to keep my bloglife completely separate from my real life, I am no longer giving out my url. This International Man of Mystery has promised to find this blog, without a lead, by noon Wednesday. I love this dare.
11. Ack, the ex-husband/ best friend.


Question #1, in two parts:
Section 1: On the sidewalk there is a narrow passage which only allows one person to pass at a time. Does a man, accompanied by his love interest
A) go first
B) allow the woman to go ahead of him

Section 2: Posing this question, does this make a girl high maintenance?

36% said this was high maintenance behaviour.
64% said it was not.
The explanations came rapid fire.

Adjudicator 3 said, “Fuck it. We’re all equal, right? Every man or woman for himself.”
Adjudicators 2, 4 and 5 concurred.
Adjudicators 1, 6-11 countered that it was an issue of breeding.
Adjudicator 8 said it was dependent on the situation. Had the narrow passageway harboured a pool of water, say, a man should go first leading the lady out of uncomfortable harm’s way. [The Comrade smiles]
Adjudicator 9 said that when a man really likes a girl he bends over backwards trying to impress her. He becomes the best he can be. Adjudicator 9 also has a long-term, loving relationship with a beautiful woman, whom the Comrade adores. Though they’ve been together for years, he behaves with her as if it were the first week they were dating. Adjudicator 9 is a relationship posterboy.
Adjudicator 10 wondered if I had communicated properly. I said I had. The reaction of the young man in question was initially met with shame. Later after consulting his friend, the High Maintenance accusation was born.

Adjudicator 10: What? He didn’t come up with the high maintenance thing himself? He had to talk to his friend about it? What is this high school?
Adjudicator 5: Yes, I think I did that when I was 14.
Adjudicator 11: [head in hands] Can I have another pint of Creemore, bitch?

So I asked Adjudicator 11, someone I had been married to for 7 1/2 years, if I was indeed high maintenance.

Adjudicator 11: [chuckling] No.
The Comrade: And am I a good communicator?
Adjudicator 11: You are a violent communicator.

If you would please indulge me in an amendment to the first question, I have an additional Question 1, Subsection 2:
A woman is walking on the sidewalk. On her left is the road. On her right are shops and residential properties. On which side of the woman should a gentleman walk?

Adjudicators 2-5 audibly groan.
Adjudicator 8: Well, it depends on which era we are talking about. If we’re in Elizabethan times, a man would want to walk on the right side of a lady. Back then people used to hurl garbage out of windows. But now, with cars splashing or maybe something as unfortunate as a car veering out of control, the man should walk on the left side of the lady, shielding her from harm’s way..... So did I answer correctly?

The Comrade beams her approval.



Question, or rather Situation #2:
Upon the lover’s arrival a woman has prepared a welcome reception of sparkling wine and strawberries. 2 nights later she has prepared a snack plate of crudite, cheese and crackers. She juggles the work of creating homemade salsa while making cocktails. The young man sits across from her, feeding his face, watching her work. He offers no help. The young lady asks the young man to perhaps assemble a cheese and cracker combo to feed her while she’s preparing a dish for both to enjoy later. “Wouldn’t it be nice if...” she says. The young man does not understand this request. Instead he arranges more crackers around the circumference of the plate.

Adjudicator 4: See? It’s expectations. You expected him to do something, which he didn’t do, and now you’re disappointed.
The Comrade: So you think my expectations were too high?
Adjudicator 3: Why didn’t you slap him upside the head?
The Comrade: I don’t like to hit in the head.
Adjudicator 3: We need to be taught. We are stupid creatures.
Adjudicator 6: The guy’s an idiot.
Adjudicator 9: I think it’s an issue of wanting not just to take care of yourself, but to care for someone else. You want to do it. It’s a simple gesture.
Adjudicator 10: This is an issue of common sense. Don’t assume that most people have it.
Adjudicator 8: I’m sorry, I missed the beginning. What was the question?
Adjudicator 7: This guy is given a golden opportunity to feed a cracker with cheese into her mouth. What would you do?
Adjudicator 8: Screw the cheese. I’d fuck her.



There are those that consider my need for chivalry, not even chivalry really, it’s more an issue of a basic generousity of human spirit, as “high maintenance”. I performed this informal poll to try to learn more about the other side. Perspective. I do consider every accusation that comes my way. Through this weekend process I realised some new things.

I’m far more traditional than I had previously acknowledged. I didn’t realise until this past weekend that I require a chivalrous suitor. All of my guy friends, though only platonic in status, treat me as a lady whenever they accompany me. Understand I am not a feminist; I am an egalitarian. This may seem like a glaring contradiction, but I also believe that men and women have often lost the ability to allow their intrinsic masculine and feminine qualities to surface in this society. The I can do anything and everything myself movement of feminism, I feel, killed random acts of chivalry; the essence of courtship. If I’m wrong, why are there so many single people?

As much as I thought I appreciated the gruffness in a man, I do prefer a gentleman steeped in civility. This is not nature; it is nurture. It is taught. To learn how to behave within a culture is, to me, one of the basic tenets of living in any civilised society.

I do not want to teach the fundamentals of being a thoughtful human... again. I’ve completed my tenure. I believe people should learn these essentials on their own. Only then can they be a considerate addition, not completion, of another’s life.

What I have historically understood as High Maintenance, and perhaps I’m wrong here, has always meant the kind of woman who needs to go to spas or exotic locales; who need to have manicures and facials on a routine basis; people who need to have “sauce on the side”; some need every tiny whim catered to; trinkets or tokens of love bought often; some can’t leave home until their hair is perfectly coiffed, make-up precisely applied, even if only going off to the gym. Perhaps my understanding of the term is an issue of vernacular change; meaning becomes bastardised.

I am none of these things.

What I discovered since the weekend was there is a basic requirement I have in choosing to spend intimate time with a man.

This is what I require:
An ability to enjoy all kinds of food, free from omissions, with no qualms or particulars of textural issues, or worse, squeamishness.
A chivalrous man who is not afraid of me.
A creature steeped in honour and valour.
I don't care what he does for a living, as long as it is something that is not evil to the world and is something that he loves to do.
And most importantly, someone who actively listens to what I have to say.

These are my unique needs in order for another human being to share my time with. I’m not yet prepared to share my life with just one. If I don’t have these qualities in another, I cannot settle for someone short of these my basic requirements. Some may look at them as petty. Others may see something shallow. Maybe unrealistic. But they’re mine. And if I die a spinster lady, so be it. I may never find it, or it me. But one thing is fairly certain; looking around at my lovely set of adjudicators, a collection which strangely occurs whenever I need it; always spontaneous, ever hilarious...

The Comrade shall not be lonely.
She’s just going back to the drawing board.