I have a friend who says that I make the first step too difficult for guys. Honest, I’ve been trying to lower that first step. Hear the guys out. Trouble is, it’s only led to a lot more metaphorical bodies getting hidden under the metaphorical house. Another friend of mine once told me that I’m “difficult.” I don’t dispute that. I openly admit that I will find some reason to be irritated by 80% of people. For their part, 80% of people find it pretty easy to be irritated by me. As I explained it to a stranger in a car shop waiting room, “some people are easy to get along with, like cotton balls…I’m more of a frying pan.”
I’ve also gotten spoiled by a couple of guys. You meet them, and the pieces just slide right into place without anyone having to make much of an effort. You go on a couple dates and, poof, there’s an extra toothbrush in your bathroom and you’ve left half of your movies over at his house. Then one day, he’s just not there and it’s like one of your legs was removed. You hop along for a while, then eventually adjust and get a Hoveround.
It’s all well and good while you can sit in your house with your metaphorical Hoveround, your cat and your Xbox, but eventually you’re going to have to go outside. When you leave the house, guys sometimes talk to you. Nice guys. Guys you want to like. Guys who are good kissers, have college degrees and maybe even aren’t deeply disturbed by the relationship you have with your cat. You want to like them.
You can’t. They’re nice guys with jobs and clean houses, but you don’t feel the click. The pieces won’t slide into place no matter how much you wish they would. You’re sitting there in your Hoveround and they want you to play frisbee. They say you’re supposed to be with your best friend. You can’t picture these nice, well-meaning guys as your best friend. When I pick out a movie with my best friend, it doesn’t take an hour.
Nevertheless, these nice guys take you out for a drink or dinner, doing all the stuff that they’re supposed to do. Then they kiss you goodnight and it feels more like paying for dinner than something you really wanted to do. You tell your brain “be here now,” and your brain just says, “this isn’t him! what are you trying to pull?!” (The “him” sometimes changes, but the “him” never happens to be who you’re kissing.)
You keep trying to just hide in your house, but your friends keep wanting to introduce you to “this guy you’d really like.” That usually turns out to be a lie, and you start to wonder if there’s something wrong with you. Or maybe the world really IS full of unfunny people, mean people, filthy people, and people who have really good self esteem for some reason known, apparently, only to them. At any rate, you eventually have to tell your friend why you think his/her friend is annoying.
There are a lot of questions being batted around today. Is it just me? Why does my judgment suck? Why do guys think I can’t tell when they’re just wishing I’d stop talking and get naked? Why do guys like the Three Stooges so much? Why would anyone own more than one Girls Gone Wild video? Why doesn’t anything rhyme with orange?
Today, I have no thesis statement.
I also happen to be missing a leg.
Let’s go to the Grand Canyon.