Sunday, March 18, 2012

The Plight of the Single Girl: Tall, Dark, and a Complete Fool (Pascal's Story)

You always want what you can’t have. There are plenty of nice guys. They’re just all in the past where you left them. You don’t know how to act when someone is nice to you.

These, and many, many more idioms are common echoes in the single girl’s psyche. Our well-intentioned married girlfriends offer tips and tools on how to “close the deal.” Our platonic male counterparts warn us to be less “too picky”, more realistic and willing to let our ‘freak flag’ fly but not too soon. Our moms remind us to uphold our ladylike behavior at all times (especially in church) while our fathers encourage us to take no mess.

With all this instruction, you’d think we’d have our own secret society complete with rituals and the mantra…Get married, or die tryin’.  I sometimes fantasize about my shrinking group of single friends crashing the book club meeting of our married friends with a flash mob singing Jon Bon Jovi’s, “It’s My Life” – a signal to them all to support our plight as opposed to try to dictate it.

But instead, all of this makes finding “the one” more confusing than ever. To truly determine whether there’s any real point in a second date or meeting parents, or inviting over or…dare I say cooking for him, single women conduct an ongoing assessment from the beginning to help determine the deal breakers.

A True Story

I enjoyed a certain chemistry with a friend of a friend. He often flirted whenever we’d see each other which was usually at a party of our friend’s. But more or less, we always left it at the party under the dark lights with the rest of the fond memories. After a year or so, he asked me for my number. I’ll take this opportunity to tell you that although he was a deliciously dark piece of chocolate with serious charisma and a smile as white as elephant’s tusk, he was not at all my type. Our flirting was fine, but it had its place. I took pleasure in knowing that I’d bump into him at our friend’s parties. He’d charm. I’d smile. He’d flirt. I’d like it. And then we’d go our separate ways with a knowing “until the next time”… (glance).

This distance was a great part of the appeal of our interaction. It was superficially stimulating and we were both able to return to our lives after the party having caused no real damage to ourselves or anyone else. Like a daydream, it was a brief escape providing just enough pleasure and fantasy to distract from any current stress or dissatisfaction. It was predictable, reliable…perfect. As such, I was hesitant to breach the comfortable parameters of our interaction. And yet, I found myself saying “yes” to the possibilities and off we went-on an actual date.

And quite honestly, it was a fairly seductive scene. He was flawless in his attention and chivalry. He opted for a lounge with a live band and good food. I liked that. He opened doors, pulled out chairs. I was relieved he was still funny, still charming. I’d already decided I would not be sleeping with him anytime soon. (This is not a myth, gentlemen. Women know about 30 seconds after meeting you.) So, I was relaxed without the pressures of having to be hyper-feminine or hyper-sexual.

And so, we’re sitting there and enjoying our witty banter and intelligent but easy-going conversation, I’m starting to think to myself, “Well how about that. This is awesome.”

And then it happens.

Just when I start to entertain seeing this guy again, he looks at me and gives me an unmistakable look of yearning. I’m flattered but play coy and ask, “What?”

He pauses for only a second before saying, “ I was just thinking about something.”

Seizing the opportunity, I encourage him to tell me. I’m mentally preparing to be gracious in anticipation he’s going to tell me how glad he is we’re alone or how beautiful I am. I literally leaned forward just the slightest bit so as to fully receive the kind words that would surely challenge my cool façade.

And as he parts those lips revealing those perfectly white teeth, he says, “I just keep thinking how good your tits look up against the table.”

And that there, folks, was that. I glanced over the scrumptiousness that was before me and let out a deep sigh. “Too bad he won’t be getting none…ever,” I thought.

And back to the drawing board I went. 

Written by:  Pascal*

[Names have been changed to protect the identity of the single girl.]

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