To be honest, things have not gone well. Susan is just not taking it all that seriously and, really, I can not imagine why.
The book by Rachel Greenwald has been a smash in the US and is ready to storm the stores in the UK. Although, as I wrote a , the title has been changed in the UK from 'Find a Husband After 35 Using What I Learned at Harvard Business School' to 'The Program: How to Find a Husband After 30'. Apparently, the Americans are not so obsessed by age as us Brits. They're really missing out.
It's absolutely corking stuff. I'm just not sure a lot of the women I know, Susan included, have the commitment that the book's author Rachel Greenwald demands, because the number one thing that her book has to say is you have to make finding a husband your number one priority. There are no halfway houses.
Susan has been single for 18 months. I can't even remember the last time she went on a date. So I tell her all of this as reasons why she must adopt the "program". I try really hard to give her the impression that I'm being very serious. Sadly, Susan sees straight through me.
"I can see straight through you. You think this is another chance to, in some way, get your own back on me by subjecting me to public humiliation."
She does, of course, have me bang to rights. I feel bad about it, but this is a big part of our relationship. Besides, subjecting people to public humiliation is not all bad, right?
"OK, I admit I was thinking it would be fun. I'm sorry."
"That's OK, Gord. I forgive you and I'm going to follow your advice and do the 'program'."
I'm completely shocked. I think Susan must have lost something, you know, like her mind.
Have you seen the list? It has gems in it like "hunt for a man in as many places as possible" and "ask anyone if they know of a possible date".
"Are you sure?"
"Definitely, and I'm going to follow the part about marketing support and 'seek the help of a best friend' -- that's you, Gord. I've decided that I'm going to take you down with me."
"Is that strictly necessary?"
"Oh, absolutely, we'll have fun and, besides, you can try out the male version 'How to Find a Wife After 30'."
"Lucky there isn't one and, besides, I don't want one. Being a commitment phobic in search of the unattainable has always been my thing."
"About that, it's time to get a new thing."
You know when you have one of those moments when you hear something and you're just trying to work out how bad the reality is going to be? It was exactly like that. And, in case you are wondering, the reality was really bad.
Susan tells me she has a plan, part of which involves using up as many of those free invites that hacks get sent as is possible. Susan, being all glossy-magazine girl, gets millions of these, but never goes to any.
First up, we went to the opening of the Sigmar Polke exhibition at the Tate Modern and disaster struck within minutes of arriving. We'd hardly had a chance to pick up our first glass of wine and munch our way through some unpleasant canapes, when Susan spotted her ex-boyfriend.
"OMG, it's Mike!"
Susan almost shrieked this and if it hadn't been for the din of the massive echoey interior of the Tate, I'm sure he would have heard us.
"What should I do? Should I speak to him?"
"Are you mad? He was an idiot and he is still an idiot. Look at him!"
Mike was wearing an orange baseball cap, camouflage trousers and a vintage cowboy shirt. He looked like a redneck.
"Oh I quite like that look. It's very now. I think I might talk to him."
And before I could remonstrate with her and tell her how bad a plan this was -- that it wasn't part of the "program" -- she was off across the room.
Somehow, I don't think Susan had seen what I have seen, ie that Mike was standing next to this willowy, tall blonde, who was about 24 and drop-dead gorgeous to boot.
I thought of shouting out: "Susan, you fool, come back", but even though public self-flagellation is my forte, I am not sure Susan would forgive me, so I fell in line and followed her over as she unwittingly got ready to go head-to-head against the younger, faster upgrade.
I physically cringed when I heard Susan almost coo Mike's name.
"Mikey," she went as she kissed him on both checks, totally missing the withering, icy stare that the blonde was blowing her way.
Mike just grinned before turning to me, "Gordo mate, still hanging around?"
Twat. I, of course, didn't say this. "Mike dude, good to see you. Love the redneck look."
Mike just laughed at this and introduced us to the blonde, who is a Caitlin, and works (would you believe it) in fashion. I knew there was a reason she was so skinny.
After that, it was just road-kill as Susan made like a motor and descended into an orgy of Q&A with Mike, congratulating him on his ("wonderful") new job and ("fantastic") new house.
I think in the "program" we were at point 11 -- "Mass marketing: think of everywhere you might meet men and try them all each week" -- but I'm pretty sure Ms Greenwald didn't mean your ex-boyfriends when their DDG girlfriends are on hand.
This whole thing lasts for almost half an hour. It's endless, I swear. The whole time I am rooted, shouting at the top of my voice "stop, for the love of God", but, of course, I'm not. I have resigned myself (pretty easily, it must be said) to just endlessly knocking back the free Chablis, taking refills from the hovering waiting staff, who make me feel like I'm part of an encircled wagon train ("what do you mean no cavalry?").
All the time, Mike ("oh Mikey, that's such good news") was grinning like the cat who got the cream -- and I mean all of it -- while his DDG girlfriend shivered the thinnest of smiles and hardly uttered a word.
Eventually, Mike and Caitlin put us out of our misery and headed off to see the exhibition upstairs, leaving Susan and I standing there with full glasses of wine.
"Susan, what on earth were you thinking?"
Susan shook her head. "I have no idea. It was like having an out-of-body experience. I just couldn't help myself. It was like my mouth had been disconnected from my brain. How bad was it?"
"How bad? Suze, you are the walking dead, you totally died out there," and I slapped my hand against my forehead.
"Break it to me gently."
I smile. "Oh I did. You were in full blown praise the ex-boyfriend mode."
An hour or so later, Susan and I still had not made it up to the exhibition ("Sigmar who?"), but had instead dug in. This was, I can tell you in retrospect, a mistake. Did someone say "free bar"?
The more trashed we became the more Susan became obsessed with Mike's DDG girlfriend. She promised she wouldn't mention her, but Caitlin became our sole topic of conversation.
"On a scale of one to 10, how good looking would you say she was?"
"No."
"Oh come on, Gord."
"Why?"
"I need to know."
"What does it matter?"
"It doesn't. I'm just interested in a male perspective. It'll make me feel better."
"No it won't."
"Gord!" and Susan almost shrieked and people turned, so I gave in.
"OK, nine."
"Nine? You've got to be kidding. Nine!"
"Look, she's 24 and fashion industry identikit skinny, but she never said a word. It's like she majored in icy smiles and mime."
"Is that meant to be a consolation?"
"Suze, that is a major consolation."
"No, that's just plain depressing."
"You asked."
"I can't believe you told me."
"You practically begged me."
"Yeah, but I didn't want the truth."
"You wanted me to lie?"
"No, of course not. I just didn't want the truth truth."
"Hang on a second, you didn't want the truth truth?"
"No, I just wanted the truth, you know just not all of it."
Me? Oh I was confused.
"I'm confused," I told her.
"That figures, look I've had enough of this. I'm going home."
"But you can't, it's early and we have to continue with the 'program'."
"Oh, but we are. I've just skipped ahead to point 13. 'Product life cycle: if it's not working, take a break to recharge your batteries'."
The Demographic Shift is a regular column on Brand Republic as Gordon MacMillan charts his own demographic timebomb.
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