Bernie Schwartz and me

We got new ID cards at my place of employ today. The old ones were huge, and the new one fits in my wallet, so I'm pleased about that.

But as always, having my picture taken and seeing the results is a little startling. I never kid myself that I'm God's gift to women (not to mention ten percent of the male population), but honestly, is that all I've got?

Thankfully, my Flo insists that she finds me not only acceptable but downright handsome. I've been told that very few times in my life, so I still squirm a little when I hear it, but I could get used to it.

I've long played a little game with myself, quietly, in my head. When I pass a particularly handsome man on the street, I try to decide, in mathematical terms, just how much more attractive he is than me. Five times as handsome? Ten times? A hundred times?

News of the passing of Yvonne DeCarlo reminded me last night of a funny, if coarse, anecdote involving her and Tony Curtis. I shared the story with Flo and, in doing so, described Curtis as a hunk or some other term for a handsome guy.

"No way," said Flo, skeptically. "He's not even handsome."

"Tony Curtis??" I said. "He was considered one of the most handsome men in Hollywood in the Fifties, right up there with Rock Hudson. Women went nuts for him."

She wasn't buying it. But she thought briefly that she might not be thinking of the right actor, so she looked up him up via Google. But no, she had the right guy in mind, and she insisted that he's a big dud in her eyes.

"So you're saying that I'm more handsome than Tony Curtis," I said.

(Yes, it was something of a leap on my part, but hey, she claims that Curtis does nothing for her and she insists that I'm as handsome as the day is long -- a winter's day, anyway -- so doesn't that add up to me being more handsome than Tony Curtis?)

Yes, she said, that was her stance.

"Honey, I love you, but you can't be serious. He's easily ten times as handsome as I am."

I felt confident in coming up with that ratio on the fly, after years of practice on the streets of New York City, but she wasn't buying it.

So, I'll leave it to you, gentle B&Y readers: How much more handsome was Tony Curtis in his prime than I am? Am I on the mark with my estimation of a factor of 10, or am I being easy on myself?

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