I have a confession. You see, it’s not that I don’t want to be half of a couple. I still do. I miss that kind of security and safety and I definitely miss the human contact. And no, this is not all about the sexy time… I just mean the, you know, contact. But these days whenever I get even slightly close to the R-word, part of me completely wigs out.
Here is how it goes down. Boy makes it clear he wants to be with me. The right boy in the right way. Roughly three quarters of my cold black heart turns into happy mush. But not all of it. No no, one quarter of my heart manages to shrivel up even further (who knew that was even possible?). That one quarter riots and fights. It stages a full on mutiny. And it starts to infect the happy mushy three quarters. The longer I’m left alone the worse it gets. And this is even before any talk of long term commitment has been brought to the table!
This is how I imagine I’m protecting myself. By always holding partly back. By not completely letting go. And yes, I know… by sabotaging chances at happiness. This is how I rightfully earn my self-deemed title of backpage wonder. I find reasons to run before I even have anything to run from. It’s what I do.
There is a whole page full of reasons why backpage and I are really kind of good together. They are based on the real things that women always tell you they want in a man. They are not just what shows up on paper but the other stuff too. The intangibles that never make anyone’s list. But if I’m left alone long enough, I will come up with a page full of reasons why I need to run too. Ranging from the fact that my inseam is longer than his (inconsequential) to the fact that I don’t want to be a rebound girl (totally consequential).
So right now I’m trying to turn a new leaf by staring down that black twisty piece of my heart. That’s right, I see you over there in the corner. Trying to infect my chances at happiness. And while I recognize that there is some truth in what you say… I could very well get hurt again… I also recognize that with no risk comes no reward. So I’m going to let this guy flirt with me. And we’ll just see how it goes, ok? Ok then.
I’m totally serious about the inseam though.
Well, it took six backpage dates and one awkward conversation, but dear readers, we have achieved progress. I got an actual kiss. Not an on the cheek grandma sort of deal. No no, a real full on smooch. A few actually.
Now let me tell you exactly why waiting this long is problematic. Usually I don’t stress over the first kiss. It is what it is, and with any luck it will come along, be quite nice, and break the ice for future lip locks. Sure it is full of possibility and all that fun stuff, but it’s also sweet and fun. It lets you know that the person you’ve been out with is attracted to you and interested. It may even answer some questions you had about them. So, you know, it’s good. And it’s usually fun and just nothing to get all worked up over.
Except when it doesn’t come. Or when you have to wait six dates for it. At that point it becomes some crazy obstacle. The waiting builds it up into something it never needed to be. So that when that moment does arrive, and he’s finally moving in… well, a perfectly cool one date wonder might start behaving like a ridiculous school girl.
Yes, that’s right. I giggled, I blushed, I was awkward. I’m sure it was the opposite of charming. In fact, I’m not sure why he didn’t throw me into my car and run for the hills. Truly it was a spectacle of the no good variety. I even considered reporting back on how cool I was the whole time. But, dear backpage readers, I just couldn’t lie to you. I made an ass of myself. Oh yes, yes I did.
Luckily, he did none of those things. Instead he put up with my shenanigans, kissed me a few more times, and asked me out again. Right. Next time I promise to play it cool lest I become a complete embarrassment to all of you.
And so ends the saga of the situation. Please stay tuned for further adventures with Lucky Charms, or backpage as I will surely call him.
Комментарии
Отправить комментарий