In most screwball comedies, there’s a conflict between the headlining stars that propels the action, each scene comically keeping our hero and heroine far apart or at each other’s throats, until that last scene where they end up in each other’s arms, the music soars, they kiss, “The End.”
Bachelor #8 is almost 8 years older than I am. He wants to be in a relationship, he wants to learn to express his feelings and be vulnerable, he wants to take responsibility for my pleasure, yet he has little experience under his rather prodigious belt, and not much beyond talk to back up his expressed desires. So of course Coco is Loco for this guy. Coco the Fixit Man is back in action! The first scenes have been shot and the comic magnetism/repulsion between our principal stars is dynamic.
He’s so not the perfect mate, yet after two short months I feel the same kind of excitement that I used to feel when I’d hear the garage opening when BC came home from Netscape, or when I’d see Manny climbing up my hill. My relationship with Bob was based on my idea of a perfect mate. And we had a perfect relationship, both of us learning from and feeding each other, developing intimacy, exploring together. Well, after 11 years something took over my intellect and I’ve been trying to feed this hunger, or soothe this ache, that’s about a different part of my being, not the intellectual side that says “I want a boyfriend who reads Bataille and Acker,” but a side that thinks “I want a boyfriend who wants to grow with me and is open to new experience—and who adores me and really turns me on.” So I’m turned on, by his bald head and furry shoulders and deep voice and hobbit feet, and excited that all of the reasons why we shouldn’t be pursuing each other are exactly the same reasons why Hepburn and Tracy, Hepburn and Stewart, and Hepburn and Grant got together in the end.