Every girl has a romantic side. Let's just say that mine is there, but it takes a lot to wake that sleeping beauty up. Guys playing guitars and singing to me make my whole body cringe. An unsolicited bouquet of flowers makes me roll my eyes. Which, let's face it, has only happened twice.
I am a member of the never-satisfied-thus-will-die-alone club. I do all the right things but I do them for only for myself. I volunteer, I coach, I go out, I keep up on current affairs. I have nice hair and a nice smile and although I am a leeetle soft around the middle, I think I am generally attractive. But I have successfully sabotaged almost every relationship I have been in over the past three years by simply declaring he's not good enough. Or I don't have the time. Or I'm not ready. Recently, however, I've been ready. And ready hits you hard and from your blind side.
I don't make it a second career to date, but I've always got some guy that has piqued my interest. I have a habit of finding specTACularly great first-daters. I start day-dreaming about our future together. Of making coffee in the morning and teaching our kids how to pot a plant.
As women approaching a certain terrifying age known as (dun dun dunnnnn) mid-30s, our ovaries start taking over. Um, hello! We'd like to reproduce soon! We know that you have been telling yourself that you don't need a man and that your career is important and that kids will be nice one of these days, but it's time to have some BABIEEEEESSSSS! Most of us are there or are at least getting there where simple math leads to a high-risk pregnancy unless you find someone tomorrow.
So for every first date, your guard is up. But by the third date, with things going absolutely swimmingly! you lose your control and let yourself become vulnerable because, hey! it's super obvi that you two are prob gonna get married.
And then you discover that he is, indeed, an A-hole. After the first smitten date, and the gooey texts and then the great sex on the third date and the promise of a fourth date you find yourself sitting on his couch watching UFC with his idiot friends and all that you can think about is, I am fairly certain that freshman year was over a decade ago and this SUCKKKKKKS.
But you stay. And the sex is a little less awesome that night and you don't stay to snuggle in the morning and he doesn't really seem to care if you stay or go, even though it is Sunday, by far the best day for doing nothing but kind of being a couple.
And then the worst: you have a flash back to that jerk (one of the unsolicited flower-senders) who made you feel insecure about the relationship. And not the usual, oh-this-is-new-and-fun-but-a-little-terrifying-should-I-go-for-the-Brazilian-wax-next-time-and-maybe-get-back-on-the-pill, new love jitters. This is the I-don't-know-if-this-guy-likes-me-or-just-wants-to-sleep-with-me insecurity. The bad kind. The kind that gets down deep in your gut and you tell that feeling to STFU because, seriously, it's been a while since you've gotten laid and even longer since its been with someone that you want to spend non-getting-laid time with.
And you squash it. You find yourself there on Sundays, but not in a good way. In the way where you have no idea what he was doing on Friday and Saturday night, but you know it didn't include you. You find yourself acting like a different person. Your bright and bubbly personality is now resentful and sarcastic in a mean way. You don't like this, but you sure as hell aren't going to be nice to this guy. But then why are you there?
So one day, you tell him, in a junior high rant, that he treats you like a freshman, makes you feel insecure, he has only taken you out three times and the dates promptly stopped. He texts you about sex, but never calls. When you ask about plans, he says, sure, yeah, sometime soon we can go get Mexican. And you wait. And you decide that you are not going to sleep with him until he treats you right and is romantic. You want romance.
And suddenly
along
comes
someone.
He is sweet and sheepish. There is not a smooth or arrogant bone in his body. Oh, sure he's got some weird habits, like never sleeping, but hey, he is the OPPOSITE! He is still emotionally unavailable, but you know, you just know deep down, that he likes you. Almost definitely. Probably. But then you realize you just don't like him. There is no excitement, no drama. And while you know that is a good thing, it just isn't working for you.
Not to mention that once A-hole found out you were dating someone, he was all on the scene. When can I take you to dinner, I miss you, I wish we could hang out, I think about you a lot.
Nice timing buddy. I've got something--and don't get me wrong, it's not something good necessarily, but it's something--going on over here and I don't need you mucking it up. But I do think about you too...
But, give yourself a pat on the back! After the breakup with Sleepless in Seattle you held out until A-hole actually took you out for a very fun dinner...on a Friday night! And some hungover morning nookie made it even better! And then the next week he convinced you to come hang out...on a FRIDAY AGAIN! With his buddies! And not the Cage-Fighting-Fanatics you had to endure last time around, regular people! You decide, this is it, I'm gonna go all out. Short dress, heels, hair blown out straight and a pants load of mascara. You meet him at the bar and watch his buddies stare at you as you walk through and savor every minute. His friends think you're hot, and you are.
The typical night, he walks you home, sleeps over, and then tells you some story about why he can't come to your charity event that day, but then hands you a wad of cash. For the Charity. He's still gonna donate, he just can't be bothered to go. And then asks for a ride home.
Which ends up being the BEST THING EVER.
Because as you down your first cocktail, still smarting from the blow of being stood up in person after all the effort blow-drying your damn hair the night before, your friend walks up with two men in tow. She introduces her man, the big one and you shake hands like, yeah buddy, i've heard about you! and you know you've heard about him, but you honestly can't place him because it doesn't really matter. Because the second guy, the one your friend neglects to introduce (because it doesn't really matter...to her) sticks his hand out to shake yours, smiles with twinkly eyes and introduces himself...
The reset moment. Things are about to get good again.
Which leads me back to romance. Who wouldn't want to be Juliet, with her fair Romeo below the balcony, calling her name in the middle of the night? I tell you who doesn't: this steel-hearted bitch. A surprise bag of twizzlers and a handmade gift (and I mean a good one, not some crappy valentine like you made the 'rents in kindergarten)--that is listening and knowing and caring and doing. That is romance to me. Being real and good and nerdy and awesome. Romance with an ahhhh.
So to the A-hole who woke me up calling my name last night from beneath my window, yep, that was me up there. And I was alone. And I heard you out there. Especially after you starting heaving rocks at my window. And slamming your car door. And peeling out of the driveway. Yep, that was me, turning out the light.
