Mismatched

Do opposites really attract? Don’t we ask ourselves this question every time we see couples with stark aesthetic differences? Never mind the slight disparities in height, weight, or facial features— these are normal, maybe even expected. But we speak here of extremes, of the comically incongruous, of the downright absurd and incomprehensible, of those that make our jaws drop and make us think, “What the heck?”

One classic example would be the five-year-marriage of blonde bombshell Marilyn Monroe and cerebral, Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright, Arthur Miller in the ‘50s. When pressed for a reason for her hookup with Miller, Monroe said she valued his intelligence and sensitivity. Miller, on the other hand, cited her “enormous sense of play, inventiveness and unexpectedness.” In other words, as many claimed, he couldn’t get over the fact that he got the girl.

Another example would be the pairing up of ‘80s supermodel Paulina Porizkova, who looks like an incarnation of the goddess Aphrodite, and Ric Ocasek, front man for the pop group The Cars, who may best be described as alien-like. However disconcerting their union might be, it is obviously founded on solid ground because, 24 years and two children later, they remain happily married. So men can go on scratching their heads about these two; they shall remain tightly bonded.

Then there was the Claudia Schiffer and David Copperfield hookup that almost sent the entire male population up in arms in the ‘90s. How the nerdy conjurer won the supermodel is a feat a million times more impressive than his celebrated stunts — walking through the Great Wall of China or making the Statue of Liberty disappear.

And just how a low-key, mumbling country singer like Lyle Lovett with his Brill-O pad hairdo snagged America’s sweetheart, Julia Roberts, will forever remain a mystery and a sore point for the entire universe to ponder.

And finally, in recent years, Latin singer Marc Anthony has proven that lightning does strike twice.

This skinny Grammy-award winning artist was married to former Miss Universe Dayanara Torres (no stranger to the Philippines) and is now remarried to Hollywood superstar, Jennifer Lopez and is father to their twins.

True, such couplings confound most people’s aesthetic sensibilities, but it’s nowhere near as disturbing as when the personalities of those involved are polar opposites. It is more logically acceptable for two people to be mismatched in physical attributes because they may actually converge on the very basic level of compatibility — something they need at the very least to sustain the relationship. They may happen to share the same hobbies, or be passionate about the same sports; or, on a more elevated level, they may truly stimulate each other mentally or spiritually; and in the most romantic sense, they may possess a deep affection for each other. These factors are definitely fuel for any relationship and they can turbo-charge unions for very long periods.

Let’s take the case of a friend — a whip-smart, high-powered, good-looking businessman, to whom success came very early, sometime in his mid-20s — and not because of luck but because of sheer genius. He had a long-time girlfriend who was a summa cum laude graduate of the same business school he went to and was, in fact, his equal in looks and smarts.

So it was to the surprise of all concerned when he turned around and married a very unassuming lady with a simple mind and an uncomplicated life — okay, boring, basically.

I asked him about this because I couldn’t contain my bafflement: “Why her?”

He answered: “Because being with the other one was just too stressful. I don’t want to come home to someone who will engage me in mental sparring. I do that all day at work. I want peace and quiet at home. Besides, I don’t want to live the rest of my life in mortal fear.”
“Fear of what?” I asked, still confused.

“Of being found out,” he explained. “Of her proving one day that she is ultimately better than me.”

And what of couples, who are like night and day when it comes to appetites for adventure? I know of one in which the husband is an avid extreme sportsman and the wife is an introvert who prefers to sit at home and cross-stitch. They spend weeks apart: he chasing after the high of cheating death yet again; she stoking the hearth and counting the minutes to his return.

This venture into the realm of mismatched couples was instigated by something I had witnessed at a formal dinner dance recently. We shared a table with this couple that, from the very beginning, seemed as ill-fitted to one another as a clown suit on a skinny man. The husband, resplendent as a thousand-watt bulb and dapper in a cream tuxedo, enveloped us immediately in a warm, electric, highly charged vibe. He was handsome and had an aura of menace about him — a definite chick magnet. He had a wild crop of salt and pepper hair, a sharp sense of humor, and a shoulder span as wide as an Olympic swimmer’s. The wife, on the other hand, was pleasant enough to look at, but her endless fidgeting and nervous demeanor cancelled out all the charm she may have had. She spent the entire evening monitoring all of her husband’s moves. Her eyes were glued fast to him and she held her breath in anticipation of all his actions.

It was puzzling because he did ask her to dance several times, but she refused over and over again. She craned her neck to follow his steps across the expanse of the dance floor each time he found some other partner to boogie with. I sat quietly and observed her, fascinated by the neurosis that seemed to drive this woman, who, from time to time, seemed to be teetering at the edge of sanity. Every time her husband smiled or waved — something he did almost all night — she would snap her head toward whatever direction his gesture had been thrown. If it was directed at a woman, she would give her the evil eye. I could feel hear her breathing heavily and could see her eyes afire with malice and her fists balled by her sides like a woman scorned. Sheesh, I thought to myself, how could someone make herself that miserable? Didn’t she want to boogie and have as much fun as her husband was clearly having?

Once, when the husband exited — to visit the restroom, I presumed — she bolted out of her chair and dashed out to follow him. I, consumed with curiosity, figured that that opportunity to use the restroom was as good a time as any, so I did. I bumped into her pacing the lobby, highly agitated, and darting from one corner of the place to the other. “Looking for your husband?” I asked.

It was an almost-innocent question, but she took it the wrong way. “Of course not!” she scoffed. “Oh,” I continued, “I bet you just want to work off the big dinner you ate,” then I scampered away from her line of fire.

Back at the table, I saw her husband, comfortably seated in his chair. So I asked him where he had been because his wife had been looking frantically for him.

He chuckled and said, “I went for a smoke. Pardon the Gestapo — oh, I mean the wife — she gets that way all the time.”
“What way?” I said, feigning ignorance.

“You, know, that way — like a rabid, jealous wife, wanting to poke her nose into everything I do.”

“And this is okay with you?” I pried, since he seemed all too willing to spill it out.
“Yeah, no sweat.”

“Oh, you like the dance; this little tango you play with her?”

He guffawed. “Well, now that you’ve put it in such an interesting way, yes, I do.” He guffawed some more.

I spent the rest of the evening contemplating the state of their union: a party animal of a husband, and a miserable, nosy wife, running after her own tail, haunted by her own ghosts.

I asked my companion that evening, who had witnessed all of it as well, what he thought of this entire business of mismatched couples, especially the one right beside us. I said to him, “How can that man stay married to someone like that? She gives women a bad name — all that sleuthing and snooping.” In his infinite wisdom, he answered, “What else is there to say? It makes for an interesting life.”