Dear Cary,

I'm a 27-year-old woman about six months into a great relationship with a wild 30-year-old man. I say "wild" because he is so dissimilar to me -- a rowdy, punk-rock kind of guy with several motorcycles and anarchist-type views on just about everything. He's confrontational and emotional and loves to drive fast cars. I was the straight-A high school student who went off to an Ivy League college and landed a great job afterward. I make good money sitting in front of a computer; he works for a crappy hourly wage breaking his back all day. He smells sweaty and has dirty fingernails and hard muscles and I honestly can't get enough of him. He fascinates me. I've never known or dated anyone remotely like him. And he loves the attention.

He knows that I think he is unique and interesting -- I ask him endless questions about skateboarding and his travels in South America; I devour his fabulous cooking and delight in riding on the back of his motorcycle. But he doesn't seem all that interested in what I've done with my life. He acts like he knows all about it. When I start to tell what I think is a funny or enlightening tale, he frequently cuts me off by either finishing it for me or saying that he knows someone who did the same thing. Either that or he so vehemently rejects the academic and corporate experiences I've enjoyed that I feel uncomfortable relating the stories to him.

But the rub is that he seems to adore me, he wants me around all the time, he calls me at work just to say he's thinking about me, he buys me thoughtful little gifts and rubs my feet at night. He is proud of me: I hear him talking about me to his friends and he brags about my accomplishments. And he takes my career advice very seriously (he wants to start his own business), acknowledging that I do know what I'm talking about sometimes. I mean the sex is incredibly passionate and all, but I have to think the reason he wants to spend all this time with me is that he enjoys the audience. I am endlessly interested in all of his pursuits. I have bought CDs from bands he introduced me to, I took motorcycle training and got my own license, I cooked one of his recipes and bought clothes more similar to things that he likes. I know what spark plugs do now, and I built and stained a wooden table last month. But he isn't interested in learning more about what I like -- and why should he, when I so enjoy doing what he wants to do?

It's just that I worry that he doesn't love me; he loves me paying attention to him. I feel like he doesn't know me at all -- but then he amazes me by making some insightful comment about my feelings and I think that maybe he pays more attention than I give him credit for. Am I just being paranoid because of the white-collar/blue-collar split? Do I just let go and revel in the greasy shirts and tender embraces? Does the man of my dreams really have to have read my favorite book or own a suit? Is it OK to radically adapt yourself for someone as long as you enjoy making the changes, or am I setting us up for a hard fall?

Adoring Audience Member

Dear Adoring,

Don't romanticize the working class. It isn't taken as a compliment. Just shut up and enjoy the ride. You two sound like a perfect match.

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