I really want to find a great guy. To the naked eye, one may think that I sabotage every possible relationship that comes my way but really that isn’t my intention. Okay, I am nearing my late thirties so that already implies all kinds of issues. Still, I have a decent job that I try hard to like most of the time; I have friends that keep me just busy enough to not be needy, and I own my house. I have never been married and don’t have children. I am completely self-sufficient. And I am perfectly happy without a relationship; it would just be a nice addition to life. I’m a catch!
I want someone in the same place in their life. There are several types of guys in the world. Very clearly though it is made up of nice guys and bad boys. I hear woman say all the time that when they decided to date outside of their comfort zone that was when they fell in love. It is such a great idea, and it sounds so easy.
An acquaintance of mine somehow decided that I was worthy of dating. He started off instant messaging me on Facebook. Oblivious to the purpose of his actions, I spent those first couple months trying to figure not how the hell I even knew him. Halloween was approaching, and he asked me about my costume. I offered that I was dressing as a favorite superhero for my little nephews. He suggested he also come as a superhero so we could be a pair. It was at this moment I realized his purpose was not just to be friendly.
At the Halloween party, I knew I would see him. I had tried desperately to memorize his Facebook photographs so I could identify him. Perhaps I am too nice or too naïve, but my purpose for this was only to be nice and not because I had strong feelings about dating him. I thought it was only polite to know his name when he came up to speak to me. We did meet. I did recognize him. We talked about thirty seconds. It was over. He wasn’t for me, and this was decided easily in these few seconds. I don’t know how I know this, but I feel it.
Later that night, my sister and her husband met up with the fellow. He mentioned to my dear sister that he thought I was the most beautiful girl he knew. My sister, who is my biggest fan, wanted to immediately complete another disastrous fix up. She suggested that she calls me right then and there; since of course I was probably still at the Halloween party. Not the brightest crayon in the box, she does this feat with his phone, basically allowing this acquaintance that I couldn’t place for so long to have my phone number. When my sister calls this one time that Halloween night, I ignore the unknown call after midnight. I also ignore two additional calls from this same number later in the night, not from my sister.
This should have been my sign to just stay away. But no, I am naïve or too nice, or I just really want my sister to be successful with one of her fix ups. She encouraged me with stories of how nice the man was and how pleasant he was when she worked at the local golf course. Insisting I should keep in mind the lovely things he said, she asks me to give him a tiny chance.
I have never been someone who had to be married, but I thought it was just a novel idea to date someone who might just be crazy about me. I had just left a relationship with a boy that appeared to be “bad” on the outside but really turned out to be plain lazy. I figured this was my opportunity to date outside of my comfort zone. I would actually attempt to date the nice guy. What did I have to lose?
It wasn’t long before this nice guy sent me a message on Facebook. He wanted to know if I would allow him to make me dinner. I told him I would consider it, and he began to list these extravagant dishes he could make, surely just showing off. It took very little time for an actual date to be set.
However, I didn’t want to eat alone at his home for our first date. After all I had not long ago realized that he was a very distant acquaintance, the most basic Facebook friend…simply just knowing his name through other people. Let’s face it, girls, we need to be smart even with acquaintances.
I suggested a drink, which turned into a quick dinner. I had already had plans with my sister that night, so it seemed like a comfortable first date to include her and her husband in part of the date. It would make it more casual. The morning of the date, he makes me pick the restaurant, something I dread. Our plans included playing a quick hand of cards with my sister and brother-in-law. It was your basic first date. Nothing special.
At the end of the night, he boldly went in for the kiss. I was trying not to make note of the fact that he was an oddly shaped man, but it is with this kiss that I am no longer unconscious of his size. His lips were aimed dead center for me from across the car, and it appeared that I may be kissing the lips of a caricature of Fat Albert. Warning sign, probably three or four, ignored again.
He continued to be thoughtful though. He asked me on another date over the following weekend. He was actually pretty good about calling at the right times yet giving me my space. That is, of course, until two nights before the date. He was losing a poker game and began to text me for good luck. I wished him good luck, and he said something to the effect of a kiss being lucky. Again insanely nice or naïve, I returned his text with a “kiss kiss.” It was like an invisible “on” switch. I think he wanted me to text dirty to him. I attempt to play aloof and change the subject, but he wasn’t letting up. Finally after extinguishing several topics, I succeed in changing the subject.
It is at this point my niceness or naivety turns to stupidity. He calls the next evening as I am returning from a night out with the girls. Headed out with a friend, he asks to stop by for a quick hello and a kiss. I decide that I only have a few minutes before I had to go to bed, I had an early morning the next day, and I would let him come by for a quick minute. I had an out after all.
The quick minute turned into fifteen minutes of kissing on the couch. There were no feelings whatsoever, warning sign number six; all I could think of was if he was ever going to stop kissing me with that same monotonous movement with his darting short yet chubby tongue. I must be a bossy kisser. I attempt to move my head or slow him down, only to find myself fearful of being sucked down his throat by his vacuum cleaner lips. Finally it was over, and he left. Now I only had twenty-four hours to dwell on the fact that I would be in this same position the following night after our second date.
Oh, but the Lord does work in mysterious ways! I awoke with little sleep and a field trip to find myself sick as a dog. I struggled through the day, and with my niceness restored, I got ready for my date. When he came to pick me up, I was nearly unconscious on the couch. The nice guy that he was led me back to bed and went on our date alone. He insisted he would return with some food after my nap.
Sleeping peacefully for at least three hours, I awoke realizing he had not brought the food. I decided to text him and tell him not to bother because I was going to go to bed. What I really intended to do was put on my rattiest pajamas and wipe Vaseline all over my chapped face. I proceed to do so and climbed into bed.
Luck was not on my side, he texted minutes later to say he was on his way and wanted to take care of me. He could think of nothing better than cuddling with my disgusting infected self. Delirious, at this time, I didn’t have the energy to fend him off. He comes, he cuddles, he rises early, and he departs after of what must have been at least two hours of him waiting for me to wake; I never left my bed.
I spend the next couple days sick in bed. He calls and checks on me. As I return to my normal state, I get back to my life. I realize that I am reaching that familiar point in all my failed relationships in which I overanalyze everything the guy does. My lips instantly chap just at the thought of him. This a common practice for me as I talk myself out of dating him. I begin to see the warning signs more clearly. His comments about cuddling and kissing continue; I proceed to laugh about him with my friends. I make note of his shrinking size; for some reason when I start to dislike boys they tend to get shorter than me.
Unfortunately I blame this behavior on the fact that I am nearly in my late thirties and single. I do this every time. After discussing it with a couple friends, they encourage me to give him one more shot. He is a nice guy! I just fear commitment; he deserves one more chance. Of course, I know this last chance will be the toughest of all. I have to push all these flaws out of my mind.
Thus begins the date process. The day before the date, he calls for a good night kiss. I turn it down and immediately turn off my lights in my house with the excuse I am going to bed. His return text responds that he understands, and he will have trouble sleeping now. Immediately I go on the defense and hint that he should get over the disappointment, I am going to bed. He returns smoothing over the situation stating that his trouble with sleep will only be caused by him dreaming of me. Instantaneously, I pray for an illness, if only I would have skipped that flu shot!
Now I am really trying not to dread this upcoming date. One more chance is all he gets, I promise myself. Still being considerate, the next day I text him to be sure of the plans. He has no ideas just that he has to do a promotion at a local sports bar at 9:30. I plainly state that I would like him to be decisive and choose, and that I like when guys make plans. It just solves the problem of that awkward conversation at the beginning. On early dates, no one wants to suggest the restaurant. You get into the “I don’t know, what do you want to do?” conversation that is purely pathetic. Regardless, I like it when a gentleman makes the plans.
I mentioned to him that he could quite possibly prepare the dinner he had talked about. I guess I was pretty sure at this time he wasn’t going to chop me up. He didn’t care. No matter what I recommended I couldn’t force him into any decision. Bored with the insane debate, I finally chose a movie and the sports bar food. It is with this annoying quality that I begin to criticize every tiny detail about him. It is a quite exasperating habit that I possess.
First of all, this man has been sending me texts about being chilled and wanting to cuddle (totally true and totally gag me with a spoon); he is wearing a short sleeve shirt. Because I am now finding myself very argumentative, I make note of the short sleeves. He acts as he has never been cold his life. He is clearly an inch shorter than me now. By the end of the night he will be six inches shorter.
We arrive at the movie theatre. I am reminded that he is a nice guy opening doors and paying for the tickets and snacks. We settle in our seats, and this is when I realize he smells of a mixture of heavy cologne and maybe cum. I arrange the popcorn between us and attempt to breathe through my mouth.
The movie begins, the popcorn is finished, and he put his arm around me. I can tell he wants to kiss me or something. I feel him staring at me, yet every time I look his way he asks dumbfounded, “What?” I avoid the kissing, free myself of his arm, and push away the smell. I wonder if I am imagining it all.
The rest of the date is downhill from here. We arrive at the bar, he does his work, and we eat our food. I thank Saturday Night Live for having my favorite band on this very night, and I attempt to hint that I would like to be home for it. Soon the promotion is over, and he literally sucks down a brownie sundae in seconds and we leave.
He wants to stop by his house to check his furnace. He is sure he turned it off. I know this is probably his alternate purpose; he really wants to check his house before staying over at my house. His house is actually decorated like a nice guy’s house. It is outfitted with embroiled pillows and knickknacks. He has art expressing the words love, hope, and home. Yet, he has little plaques here and there blessing golf with witty sayings about the 19th hole and prayers for a good game decorated with swirls and flowers. It reminds me that he refers to his mom as “Mother.” Perhaps he really just wanted to show me his house. His furnace is forgotten and we’re off.
At my house, we pull into the drive and I get out. He looks at me with pleading eyes and asks if he is invited in. It seems like an obvious answer since we just stopped at his house, but I play the game with him, not nearly as nice as I had been. I continue to put him off and become more argumentative as the night goes old. I sit as far away as my couch will allow. He asked if I am sleepy, as he sits next to me with his eyes closed. I can tell he is moving closer with each breath. This is when I decide that in order to get rid of him I am going to have to be even more direct. “If you are sleepy, you should go to bed.”
“What? Are you trying to get rid of me?” he asked with beseeching eyes.
“No, I am just saying that you don’t want to fall asleep on your way home,” I hinted matter-of-factly.
He sighs and closes his eyes again. I make no move to notice him and continue to watch Saturday Night Live, like it is the early nineties and still a funny show. He eventually gets the hint and makes more movement towards the door. Leaning in to kiss me, I realize that I can’t avoid this last one. It is awful and unmoving; unfortunately my lips were already in the wrong spot. I break from it, and he goes in for another kiss. I grab his shoulders and rest my head on his shoulder avoiding the kiss and hugging him. He leaves seemingly disappointed with his tails between his legs.
I hate breaking up with people. I hope he got a little of the hint. I hope if I avoid a few calls and stay busy maybe the whole incident will be forgotten. He seemed mature. Of course, it has only been twelve hours since the date, and I have already missed one call. I wonder how much work this is going to be. My last relationship took months to end. Please, if I could just be lucky this once. Please, let it be over quickly and painlessly. Two dates isn’t a relationship. Please, let him see that although I may very well be the most beautiful girl in his mind, good looks don’t guarantee a connection. Surely, he wasn’t any more impressed with the kissing.
Nearly in my late thirties, I try to learn something from every relationship. Sometimes the lesson is forgotten in the heat of passion, but I can only do so much in the name of education. My lesson here is to trust my intuition. I should have seen the early signs that he wasn’t for me. If it takes more than a month to break up with him it is my own fault. Next time someone picks me up, I am not going to date them just because they are a said “nice guy.” Remembering that my singleness is blamed on multiple issues, so are single thirty-something men. My first impression is normally correct; I must trust my initial judgment.
Mishaps Today 