Plan B: Forget Plan A?
March 2nd, 2010As I embark on the third month of my “If you build it, He will come” year, I have to take a moment to reflect on last month’s progress. Gotta say, compared to January, February was more than a little painful. In fact, I think I have a few battle wounds.
It started out fine; I began the month with three seemingly great men interested in me – and I was actually interested in them. They were courting me – I thought I was onto something. Was I finally getting it right? A natural progression happened, the one I was least interested in fell off the map and honestly, that was okay. Valentine’s Day came and went; I came out relatively unscathed, and even got a card. I know, I know – we’ve discussed this.
But then the “Dear [She Said]” text happened and for the second half of the month, it was all downhill from there. It was as if the clock had struck midnight and I was left standing in rags with my broken-down pumpkin and not a glass slipper in sight. There wasn’t even the token field mouse to stand and shrug his shoulders as if to sigh and say, “Oh well.” But, I guess that’s why God invented fairy tales. Er, I mean, Disney.
Things started looking up briefly when I met a tall drink of water out with his brothers for a birthday celebration. It was as if I had hit a 3 pointer with my eyes closed and the game went into overtime. A few nights later we went out, all five foot-three of me, and six foot-five of him. He had brains, he had looks, he had manners, a dry sense of humor – and we didn’t meet on the internet. I was overjoyed. And then: “Dear [She Said], I really enjoyed talking with you the other night… You are very cool, very hip, and very smart, yet modest at the same time. But to be honest, I’m not sure we have any real sexual chemistry. I just don’t feel the attraction. Please don’t take that as a slight in any way. I think you’re great and would love to be friends with you, but I’d understand if you’re not into that. I hope to talk to you soon, Best, [Tall Drink of Water].” Seriously, why is it that no one can pick up the phone? Or, how about just saying NOTHING at all? For someone who has a love affair with the written word, I have to admit that I’m definitely not digging all the rejection in print these days.
Okay, let’s move on to the other fallout from my new position as CEO of my global dating empire: My friends are pissed. It would seem that my attempts to be mated have disrupted their scheduling of having me to themselves at any given moment. See, here’s the thing… The ones who are complaining? Not the ones who are single. The single ones know the code: Penis has priority. They accept the code – because they too live by the code. I know I haven’t been as available. I know I have been swimming in the deep end for 60 straight days. But is it time to get out yet? I’m not sure. Part of me is getting weary. Part of me doesn’t know how much longer I can keep my head above water. I can only cover my bruises for so long before they start to show. Maybe I need to get out for a bit and spend time with my friends. Then I can always jump back in.
Or maybe I should stay in just a little longer…
