I still remember this gem from high shool:
Luck is never more elusive than to those who need it most, just as it never rains but pours for those without shelter. Lord, but why is this my life? What a dreadful way to end the year from hell. And y’all thought 2016 was bad.
Every birthday is a milestone for me and as the next one approaches I’m beginning to evaluate my year. You know, #monitoring&evalution things.
In the past few weeks I have managed to piss off a total of three men who, in their various ways, expressed a desire to ‘be with’ me.
I’m just over here praying like really God, REALLY?! Can a girl catch a break and be found by a Transformer? This Decepticon storyline got old waaay back (thank you LS for that gem 😘).
Anyway. In the interests of #doingbetter in my new year I asked myself, what did I do wrong? I asked myself that question because you know, #selfimprovement.
After much introspection, I have concluded that I did nothing wrong. I was just myself. Because I believe in #femrising, open living, and in serving as a teaching aid for #squad (things ‘just happen’ to me so somebody might as well benefit), I’m going to tell you what I did.
N.B: I have recently come to the conclusion that I am a dating idiot and so if you can help me, please do.
Here, in no order of importance, the tales of dating shenanigans:
Man No.1 did something that upset me. I’m still upset when he tries to start a conversation a couple of days later. I remind him that I’m upset and why, and that his apology was lack-lustre. Because you know, men aren’t mind readers, dumdums that they are. *eyeroll.
His response? ‘Let’s move on.’
You KNOW what I did next. I laid into him like I was his mother and he tracked in mud just as I got done polishing the kitchen floor!😂
Our conversations now are limited to the hey/hey/later type of exchanges because I’m still upset and he keeps telling me to ‘let it go.’ Nigga don’t try me cos I’m this close to letting your insensitive self-centred ass go.
Man No.2 asked me to commit to him exclusively because he’s committing to me. Sounds good, right? He’s smart, well-read, funny, gainfully employed, I mean he could get it…but here’s the thing: I’ve been on one date with him, a coffee date for that matter. How’re you going to all but propose on the strength of ONE date though? I get that most people can tell if there’s gonna be a second date or not, so can I, but er, nigga slow down, let me catch up, mmmkay? This is not the Patty Stanger Show, nor is it an episode of Love At First Sight. I knew as I said ‘Can I think about it?’ that I’d never hear from him again.
Part of me wants to say to him ok, let’s do this. But the other sensible part of me reminds me that although I’m past that age of dating for six years before marrying, I’d still like to know what I’m getting myself into before handing over the keys to the chastity belt. Men who think that’s asking for too much creep me the pharck out.
Man No.3 is married, so for me conversation about anything beyond friendship was pointless from get-go. He asks me to reconsider. No. Please? No.
I tell him I’m offended that he thinks I’m worth nothing more than second place. No, that’s not what he means.
Oh, it isn’t? So you’re not propositioning me to help you cheat on your wife? No, he says, not like that.
Me, with one eyebrow raised: Tell me please what exactly it is about me that says ‘Mistress Material?’
He explains: he doesn’t want me to be his mistress, he knows I’ll never accept because I’m too ‘feministy’, whatever that means.
Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere, I think. This, I can handle. If there’s one moment I recognise it’s the one when a man makes a pitch for casual sex. They’re never overt about it because if you’re asking a woman to let you tap you can’t exactly come out and say it like that, right?
He says: I’m just saying, I think we’d be great together, you know. I know you feel it too. Give me just one chance. The unspoken subtext is: let me tap once and I’ll leave you alone.
So let me get this straight. You don’t want me as a mistress because I’m whatever, but that same whatever has convinced you that all I’m good for is a one-night stand, if that? I’m pretty sure he was thinking of a quickie in some God-forsaken (literally) lodge that charges per hour.
I was unable to can.
I am still unable to can.
I’m the girl every man wants to “be with” but that no man wants to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death. It’s not a pleasant thought but then life isn’t particularly pleasant, all told.
So there you have it. The Life and Times.
Remember: I make all the mistakes so you don’t have to. You’re welcome.