Wouldn’t it be great if we just knew.
Knew where our lives were headed? If we could unfold a map, smooth out the folds right on the dining room table, heads bent over, under a pool of light. And just point, say, look here – if you take that road…or, now, here’s an option that’ll get you there a bit faster.
But, no. No such thing. "Not me!" You proclaim. You don’t want to know. “Where’s the fun in that?” you ask me.
Where’s the fun in this, though, I wonder.
Each time I am approached, each time a man even strikes up a conversation with me, I’m immediately on guard. He asks me for my number, he asks if he can take me out for a drink, he asks if he can…whatever…, and I, with no hesitation, no preamble, say “I’m seeing someone.”
That is, I lie. Boldface and outright.
The only “someone” I’m seeing is my sorry face in the bathroom mirror.
I have the Seinfeld complex. There is something terribly, horribly wrong with every man I meet. Not just a little annoying, but truly BAD. This one is married (yep, happens all the time), that one just sucked down four beers in the time it took me to order my glass of wine, this one is loud. Just plain loud – he makes a scene and a ruckus! Who needs that? I’ve got three kids – we create our own scenes! Oh and that one, that one’s just a few fries short of a Happy Meal.
No thanks. I'm looking for something else. He must have a brain. And he must be creative. I am just not attracted to introverted types who spend their days behind a cubicle wall, connecting wires, or whatever it is those types do all day. And he must have children. And he must – and this one really should be more obvious than it is – He really must be single.
That’s it. It’s a short list. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t (upon meeting said man), immediately conjure up “the list,” frown at the boxes sans checkmark and sadly shake my head. No, I follow my gut. My instincts know me better than I know myself. They wouldn’t steer me wrong. So if “I’m seeing someone” is the first thing that pops out of my mouth, then there must be a reason for it.
My subconscious is my dating guide.
There have been times that I’ve shushed her. All but threw her out. She is very attracted to fine looking, smooth talking men. They shut down her “jerk-o-meter” however, which does not help me in the least.
For I have known some jerks. Do I need any more of those taking up the few precious hours a week I have to myself? HELL-to-the-NO.