2013 must be the year of the dog.
Well, I’m over it.
After 2 years and 8 months of flying solo, I’ve made the sad mistake of dipping my toe into the dating pool. And I will just say, it doesn’t look promising. I suddenly have no desire to swim and foresee many days of sunbathing, dry on land, ahead for this girl.
I went on a “date” two weeks ago and…yeah. Some people will weigh one mistake against an array of awesome conversations and focus on the mistake. I can’t be perfect. This is where I shrug and admit, I wish I could have fixed that one. But hindsight is always 20/20. And so you move the fuck on. Like it or not.
I hung out with a guy this past Friday. I always call it hanging out. “Date” sounds like too much for me. But that is obviously one of my many problems. Anyways, we play pool, he takes me out to eat, we sit and talk for hours on neutral ground. We kiss. That’s as far as I will let it go, despite his best efforts to…um…offer pleasure. Side note; begging a girl to treat her body like a buffet, though amusing or exciting for some, does not work with every girl. I’m one of those girls that will decline. He even makes it so clear that he expects absolutely nothing in return. Still, I decline. A prude, I am not, but I will say this – I save scandalous sexcapades for my boyfriend (a woman should be able to be a slut for her man when need be…and only her man). And secondly, I tend to get bored when a guy goes to town. I feel like I should be filing my nails or making a grocery list. LMAO. I am sure someone will say, “well, you just haven’t had it done right.” I am not going to necessarily disagree with you….although there was that one…he was yummy, as were his skills…nonetheless, I was still making a grocery list. What can I say, I know how to multitask. HAH!
Anyways, so we kiss. That’s it. And for the most part, it was an enjoyable night.
And then, things get funny. Short answers. Weird lapses in time. Call me paranoid but a girl knows things. And hell if I wasn’t right. I send a text saying “you’re much better at expression in person than you are via text, that’s for sure.”
And the lovely response:
“I was. But I wasn’t completely honest. I wasn’t planning on anything that night. Just a friend to share a meal and laughs with. I should’ve told you that I’m married. I understand if you hate me now and don’t want to talk to me. It was unfair of me to not disclose that when things escalated. You’re a sexy, smart, charming girl and I got caught up in the moment.”
To which I respond:
“I feel really bad for your wife. Fix your shit and lose this number.”
I replay the evening and can list an abundant list of times this douche could have said “hey, I have a wife!” Why the hell are you not wearing a wedding ring? I mean, WTF?!?!?
There is a part of me that says there is someone out there for me. There is another, much stronger part of myself that says “bitch, you don’t have the time or patience to weed through the losers. Give up now.”
And that’s exactly what I’m doing.
This puzzle piece will officially stay a puzzle of one.