As each year passes, my idealistic, romantic younger self fades ever further into the background. I can no longer project depth and a great sense of humour onto some random good-looking man, like pinning the tail on the donkey. Young men mostly make me feel like should be either making them a packed lunch or ironing their school trousers, and harmless random crushes have vanished into the ether. Now I have crossed the hormonal Rubicon, I feel like a very unglamorous version of Kristin Scott-Thomas in Fleabag, but rather than leaning against a bar drinking a Martini and being wise, I’m wearing Primark pyjamas and eating cheese balls from Morrisons. Maybe it’s because I can see clearly now the estrogen has gone. Or maybe it’s because all that’s on this side of the hill are men in gilets, Jeff Goldblum and… LARRY DAVID.
Look, it’s not like I fancy Larry. (Actually, maybe I would if he bought me dinner in one of the fancy LA restaurants he casually frequents, or took me out on his golf buggy.) He’s tall, rich and still has hair, even though it’s halfway down the back of his head and sprouting in all directions like a mad professor. But mainly I think I’m drawn to him because he’s the menopausal woman’s spirit animal.
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Larry David is essentially a manifestation of the impotent rage all women feel when the compliments peter out and you’re left in the Siberian wasteland of middle age. He has no filter, and is forever saying the wrong thing. Also, he’s a master of the art of getting angry about tiny details and ruining everything for everyone – I mean, HELLO?
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Something else has shifted, too. Once, I couldn’t watch Curb Your Enthusiasm because, although it was always hilarious, Larry’s hideous faux pas were too excruciating to bear. Starting with the question ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’ it crammed in so many colossal social blunders that I’d be peering at it through my fingers and screaming, begging for it to end.
Now, though, just as the show reaches its twelfth and final season, I’m relishing every exquisitely nightmarish moment. In the first episode of the new series, there’s a plotline where a woman tries his glasses on and bends them out of shape with her large head – and he has to wear her tortoiseshell batwing specs until they’re fixed. Everyone looks at him with utter disdain, and for some reason I felt it deep in my soul.
