“I’m a pretty happy fellow, you know?”

Side-zip dresses – yeah, I don’t understand those.  I understand the engineering behind the ones that go on over your head.  Or the ones that a girl might step and wiggle into.  I’ve tugged up a few back zippers.  (And down…)  Even zippers in the front, yep.  I completely believe in the row of tiny white buttons up the back of a wedding gown.  Crossing Delancey at Theatre LJCC, though, used a dress with a tiny little zipper on the side from like hip to underarm.

Most dresses are girly, yeah.  Duh.  But there’s something particularly old-school feminine about a dress that zips on the side.  “Like Grace Kelly at her dewiest.” It’s just all nipped in and fitted in a way that nothing I wear ever could be.

Lynne Long, Emily Lunsford, and Martha Summey

What’s strange about it is that I just can’t understand how it works.  I mean, a zipper in the back means that the dress isn’t even on until someone zips it up.  It won’t stay up.  But one of those side zippers just cinches the whole thing up nice and tight, neat and tailored.  But it was already on, right?

I really can’t put my finger on it, but there’s just something wonderfully dainty and feminine about it.  What’s the most fun is that it’ll never mean the same thing to me that it does to a girl.  To her, I’m guessing, it’s just a little practical thing, like bobby pins.  But to me, it might be among the least practical thing ever.  It would make more sense to do it any other way.

Romantic comedies.  Chick flicks.  Same thing.  I don’t know if I appreciate them in the same way as some others might.  And I don’t know if I could.  Sure, I’ll admit to listing When Harry Met Sally as one of my favorite movies of all time.  But Dirty Dancing means nothing to me.  I just don’t understand.

That being said, I think I’m glad they exist, because they imply several things about the fairer sex that I really like.  Kind of like side zip dresses.  See, I was going somewhere with that.

“Any man who loved me enough to make a fool of himself would be good to me.”

Yeah, I think I just did that a little.  Moving on.

“It’s hard, this business of getting acquainted.”

This play is all about finding romance.  Or not finding it, because you’re too busy dreaming Disney about boys.  So then your Bubbie finds a matchmaker to hook you up, because you couldn’t do it yourself.

I’ve never been married.  And I just noticed the other day that I’ve had more people – strangers and friends – try to set me up in the last few months than ever before.  At the same time, fewer and fewer women seem to be willing to offer a stranger any kind of fair opportunity to get to know them.  More than ever before, if I don’t know her already, she’ll visibly flinch when I try to say, “Hi.”  Men are apparently scary.

Notice a disconnect there?  No one knows how to meet anybody.  No wonder we all need a Shadchan – or eharmony.  I’m offering fabulous door prizes – pickles and hats – to anyone who can set me up with someone I go out with twice.

Okay, this has been all over the place.  But I really am discussing Crossing Delancey somewhere under there.  While I’m being all over, I thought Jeff DeGarmo (Sam) and Emily Lunsford (Isabel Grossman) both had a few genuine and sweet moments in this performance, even though I think Jeff might have almost choked to death for real on stage.

Thanks very much to Emily Lunsford and the LJCC Theatre for letting me come see their show.