Here's the deal: he is a really sweet guy, and damn but if he isn't the cutest stinkin' thing. Maybe, though, a little too sweet. A lot too sweet? Too much, just... too much.
If you have any sense of self worth, you're probably recognizing the flaws of that statement. Indeed, I am literally beginning to question if there is something deeply skewed in my idea of romance at this point. I'm pretty sure I get a bigger thrill from cancelling a date than going on one because if I put on my good make-up and the date doesn't go well, I legitimately feel cheated because that shit ain't cheap.
Even my best friend was on this guy's side. He just likes me. A lot. That's something to pity, not fear.
The day after our date, he bought me a stuffed animal. Not like he won it at a fair in my honor, but still. I tried to tell myself it was a cute gesture, but you know what I really don't need at this point in my life? Stuffed animals. I have like 60 real ones shedding on my bed and pooping right as I'm about to eat. What I really need is someone to take animals from me.
Then there was the texting. So, so much texting. Again, I reminded myself that, while in a long-distance relationship, texting was extremely important to me. If he wasn't texting me, I assumed that he was probably flirting with someone thinner and prettier and with lower moral standards (Side note: I have since been reassured by others suffering through long-distance relationships that this is, unfortunately, normal behavior). So shouldn't I be grateful that this man was making a serious effort to keep in touch with me at all moments of the day including when he knows I am asleep?
Okay, but Texter lives like... 30 minutes away, tops. I don't really know him so I don't really care what he's doing.... but isn't he at work? What the hell -- 7 missed alerts? And that funny picture is sort of racist.
I was going to respond but I took a nap instead.
Additionally, he wanted to plan a second date as soon as possible... Okay, not a bad thing. He liked me a lot and he wants to spend time with me.The issue came when I wouldn't commit to scheduling a third date as well. No, I am not planning my week around seeing you as much as possible. We hung out once.
I hedged my way out of that one without having to blatantly tell him it was more of my time than I was willing to give to someone I barely know. He did, after all, remind me a few times he has been off the dating scene for a while, and was rusty. He would gently remind me of this when I started to seem irritated, which was kind of a lot, and I would take a deep breath and remember that I am kind of a nutcase and should be sympathetic to other awkward daters.
But the next incident pushed me over the edge.
Since I was sick and couldn't hang out, he asked me to help him decide what to do on his day off.
I'm not sure why this annoyed me so much. I guess I feel like people who are pushing thirty should be able to make their own decisions about what to do with their free time. Again--I don't know you. I don't know what you like to do, and honestly, if I'm not involved, I couldn't give a rat's ass. If a decision in any way involves my happiness, please just assume that I will make it. Lay the options before me and accept that we'll be doing whatever it is that suits me best and that it probably involves cocktails... but if I'm not participating, I could not possibly care less how you're spending your day. Now leave me alone so I can watch this Psych marathon.
But he couldn't just let that go. He was insistent that, as a writer, as an adventurer, and as a woman and thus by nature opinionated, I should be jumping to make choices for him. Strange that now I'm taking the damn reins, whereas previously, I was "needy" and cute like a little animal for being sick.
I can be your mommy or your kid, dude, I can't be both... and also that's disgusting and I don't want to be either.
Somewhere along the lines he threw in a Princess Bride "As you wish," which maybe I am taking way too literally as a Princess Bride fan but did you just tell me that you love me?
So, I told Texter that I think we are looking for different things in a partner. I was informed, very quickly, that I had misinterpreted his intentions, and he was just looking for a friend.
I've gotten this one before. It seems to be a knee-jerk reaction to rejection. I once had a man try to give me a fifteen minute talk on why, when he asked to buy me a drink at the bar and I told him I wasn't interested, I should be open to accepting friendship from strangers and less inclined to assume a man asking to buy me a drink at a bar is a romantic (sexual) overture... and did I have some animosity issues toward men?
Really? Just friends. Then why don't you go and buy that dude over there a drink? Let's just say frankly that your odds of going home with him are way more promising.
Maybe I'm speaking for myself here but do women do that?
If I hit on you and you reject me, I'm not going to pretend I wasn't hitting on you while mentally naming our future children. I'm just going to call you a dick and resent you. No big deal.
How about in a month or two? I can wait.
Oh, and tell the story to my closest friends who will also act shocked at your horrible dickish behavior and offer me possibly reasoning for his decision.
Such as: He wants to love me... but it scares him how much better that him I am!
My beauty is really intimidating.
No, the girl with him in that picture is in no way more attractive than me; he is just covering his regret. Also she's a whore.
Yes, thank you, I would like more wine while you come up with more totally true statements.
So after that, I guess I'll probably Facebook stalk for a week waiting for any sign of a change of heart, and finally when that fails, I'll just resume my desperate love for celebrities who can never hurt or disappoint me and thus make the ideal crush. Like you're so great. If I'm a bird he will be a fucking bird too.
And isn't that the mature way to handle things?
So, anyway. The good news is that I deal with romantical disappointment by becoming immediately more thrilled that I am single and completely independent.
I go for a run. I admire myself in the mirror and applaud myself for being a strong, intelligent woman who knows her own mind. I have a glass (bottle) of wine and consider texting men I know do NOT want to hear from me. I cry over a few Jane Austen movies. I remind myself that the best revenge is living well-- as in, being more successful than the people you hate so you can rub it into their stupid faces. I dwell on that one guy I met in Indianapolis I was convinced was my soul mate and will never see again (Because I stalked him and he found out).
Thus, I return to the loving fleece-lined embrace of my sweatpants, and life is good again.
The bow tie makes this class out the ass.