I will admit that, when I first started dating my now boyfriend, I was a bit of a snob.
I used to go on dates pretty much in the four-block radius around my house: south of Eglinton, west of Avenue Road, east of Bathurst, north of Bloor. Perhaps this is because I’m a lazy dater or I thought that everything good — restaurants, galleries, theatre — happens here, so why bother? But something has changed. These days I’ve been feeling less like “Ecks and the City” and more “Ecks north of Steeles.” And, I’ll admit, it just doesn’t have the same sexy ring to it.
My Rebound Guy has managed to shake free of that particular albatross around his neck and is sticking around. I can’t help it: I’m hooked, and nobody is more surprised than I that it is actually working out.
Now here’s the problem: I’m in what I consider a long-distance relationship: having to take to the highway and drive for at least 30 minutes due north to see my man who is, don’t judge me, a 905er!
Yes, after dating a Bay Street banker (and secret cross-dresser), a depressed writer living in the Annex and a King Street lawyer who was great but a workaholic, I decided to expand my dating horizons.
You could go as far as saying I am expanding my dating real estate. And, so far, so good. Sort of. I’ve learned a lot about dating someone north of Steeles. And it is not just that traffic is awful! (But seriously, why are there so many people on the highway at 3 p.m., 4 p.m., even 11 p.m. or a.m.? Where are all these people going?)
Culture is culture, sure, but this might have more to do with the men than the night life. And the men “up north” are unlike any I’ve dated in the city. These are a guy’s guys. I’m not used to it, and I’ll be frank, it turns me on.
The men up there have their own man-caves — basements with pool tables, bars, dartboards and, of course, a beer fridge. They have La-Z-Boy recliners, and, not only that, they enjoy them without a hint of irony. They have boys’ nights out. They know how to fix things around the house. They crack jokes about “their ball and chains.” (Only someone as modern as I am can laugh at this because it is so out of my realm and no one has ever referred to me as their “ball and chain.”) My downtown guys wouldn’t have known how to change a light bulb if their lives depended on it. They’d call in the contractor! And they seemed to act more like women: moaning about their jobs and wondering if their shoes matched their outfits before going to an event.
The men up north own snowplows and don’t pay people to shovel their snow. And they do things for their wives, like drop them off outside the restaurant before they park the car. The women treat their men kind of like children. They seem to nag a lot but in a way that their husbands find cute.
Downtown men do not find naggy women cute.
And, between me and you, the men up north, well, this one at least, is better in bed than anyone I’ve dated downtown. Who cares about culture when you’re getting the best orgasm of your life! I’ve been to a couple parties with my north-of-Steeles man, and I noticed two things: One, everyone’s house seemed to be decorated out of a Pottery Barn catalogue. That’s fine, but I did wonder if anyone had any personal aesthetic. And, two, everyone talked about soccer all the time. They live for soccer — driving their children to soccer games and talking about soccer practices. I have nothing to say about soccer except that professional soccer players are HOT. But I don’t think that’s what these people wanted to hear.
And people who live way north of Steeles Avenue love where they live. At parties I would hear, “I could never live in the city” and “I like the city but not with children.” It was as if Toronto were a foreign country to them, and I felt defensive because they were being snobby about downtown.
The more time I spend in suburbia, the more I’ve started to see the appeal. They have drive-through pharmacies! I mean, seriously, how cool is that?
I’m not saying I’ll move to the suburbs any time soon. But, thanks to my change in dating real estate, I’ve definitely learned that the suburbs have some pretty positive qualities. But I do think there should be a designated lane on the highway for us women dating men up north. Forget about the minimum “two people in the car lane.” Think about us who have opened our eyes to the beauty of men and life in the 905!
I’m going to call the mayor right now to see what can be done about this.
Post City Magazines’ columnist Rebecca Eckler is the author of Knocked Up, Wiped! and her latest books, How to Raise a Boyfriend and The Lucky Sperm Club.
