Why I HATE “dating” in current times. Aka, what I had said to mom and various other people who are trying to butt in. Note: this is a farce, with some truths mixed in.
Meet a guy. Check each other out. Do the eye contact thing. Do the chatting thing, then flirting. Get asked to hang out. Meet up with him at a party, with mutual friends, in a group. Drink. Keep talking. Laugh. Get to know each other. Really hit it off. Exchange numbers.
Spend the rest of the weekend wondering if he’s going to call. Think about calling him first. Stumble over what the hell the rules are with this kind of thing. Sigh, frustrated that there are rules. Check your email. Spend the next hour stalking him online. Realize that before his first phone call, you already know some things you probably shouldn’t. Decide that you wish he would have called you instead. Shut off the computer. Stomp around.
Thursday comes around. Your phone beeps: text message. It’s him! Jump around excitedly. “What’s up?” he wants to know. You text back, telling him what’s up. He tells you that he’s hanging with friends this weekend. He asks if you want to meet up and chill. You say sure.
You meet up. In a group, at the bowling alley. Everyone’s a little sloppy. He kisses you. You jump around excitedly (on the inside). You kiss back. Weeks go by like this. Text message. Party. Hang out in groups. Decide to ignore the “rules”. Hookup late one night. Do the walk of shame. Repeat.
Realize that you’re a grown ass woman and that you’re still single. Decide that that’s stupid because you’re pretty awesome. Contemplate wearing a shirt that says, “I’m fucking awesome. Ask me out already.” Promise yourself that you’ll stop doing the stupid hookup thing.
Watch as hookup gradually turns into a relationship. Feel happy. Break up. Freak out. Repeat.
Complain that guys are lazy/idiots/not worth the effort. Wish desperately that you lived in the 1950s. Fantasize about innocent courtship. Remember that you could never deal with that much Jell-O salad or having to have your hair perfect all the effing time. Decide that maybe 1850’s sound better, or hell, the 0050’s. Rule out time travel as a dating technique. Wonder if you’re smart enough to build the machine anyways.
Continue to meet guys. Flirt. But stop any sort of prolonged, messy, friends-with-benefits thing before it starts. Because you have friends, and you don’t see how sleeping with them is a benefit.
Start to daydream about something better. About a guy who meets you and gets your number right away. Who calls instead of texts. Who doesn’t rely on email. A guy who tries aggressively to get to know you. Who, once he does, isn’t afraid to admit that he’s straight up and down crazy about you. A guy who finds it endearing that you’re a raging insomniac. Who will cook with you in the kitchen. Who will do things other than have sex with you, even if he’s killer in bed. Who notices that evil smile right before you’re going to do something slightly naughty, and winks.
A guy who will ask subtle questions about your favorite movies, and then watch them with you. Your favorite foods, and then get them for you. Your favorite time of day, and then make plans around it. A guy who doesn’t back down from your intensity. Who comes up behind you and brushes your hair to the side, kissing you on the back of the neck, catching you as your knees buckle. A guy who doesn’t follow the damn dating rules. A guy who you can’t help falling desperately in love with, as he’s falling just as hard for you.
And that’s when you realize you’re daydreaming (again). That you need to get back to class/work/cleaning. You wonder if you have any spare batteries for a certain toy, and figure it’s not worth it. You’re craving filet, and a Dollar Menu burger is not going to cut it.
Then you call/text a friend, not to talk... but just hang out. Or, like me right now... just go to bed.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment