I love you.
Wanna go to Cornwall? Because I do. I’ve been watching Poldark, and I just really love that place. I kinda don’t want to drag you back to Ireland again after you’ve already been so many times WITHOUT ME (I can’t find that ‘supremely bitter’ font, so caps lock will have to do…), so I guess we could just go to Cornwall because seriously it’s beautiful and if we ran into Aidan Turner on a filming day, I probably wouldn’t cry very hard.
A week or two ago, I met some guy who said he wanted to take me to Cornwall, but I think I’d rather just go with you. I wonder if he’d still pay?? Just kidding. Why are some guys like that? I don’t need you to pay for my shit, mofo. Get lost.
Apparently this particular fellow was good-looking. Didn’t notice. He latched on to me pretty hard, and my well-meaning gal pal was giving me a pronounced elbow and nod from the other side like he was really something worthwhile. I don’t doubt that he is, I just don’t happen to be in the zone at the moment. I tried for a minute, because I do trust her judgment and we know what a fool I can be if left to my own devices, but there’s only so much I can do.
I decided to leave the bar and go get a coffee for myself and the working bartender. He said, “I’ll come with you!” and subsequently did. (I told this story to my sister-in-law and she said, ‘Really? You just let random people you don’t know ride along with you whenever you go get coffee?’ Hmmm. It hadn’t occurred to me that this was an odd thing to do. Leave it to her to point out the flaws in my life choices.) So we go to get coffee and he is going on about how great we could be together.
A) you don’t even know me, fella. Why do they carry on like that after two seconds? I mean, I am a vibe person, but you really should hold off on the planning trips across the globe and lifetime commitments together until you’ve kind of cross-checked your first impression, shouldn’t you? I mean, my sister-in-law doesn’t even think I should let you in my CAR. She’d definitely give me some stink eye if we took off for a european vacation.
B) Nope. Not into it.
So I get back to the bar with the coffee, and my friend is giving me the hopeful, inquisitive look you give your girlfriend when she comes back from a coffee run with an apparently good looking guy.
“Did you make out with him!?!?! Tell me EVERYTHING!!”
Uh… This isn’t going to go well.
“I did not make out with him.”
*disappointed face* “WHY NOT??”
“I told him I’m into someone else and This One doesn’t care for me in that way exactly in any committed manner but that I just don’t see any point in dating unless and until I meet someone I like more than This One.”
I’m telling you this so that you’ll know I frustrate my other friends at least as much as I frustrate you, and I almost never listen to them either. *mischievous grin*
In my defense, This One entered the bar long about this time, and I was totally right. Nobody else can hold my interest when he’s around.
So, lucky for me, I get to be single for the rest of my life, because he wants none of it. LOL. (The “laughing” in this acronym clearly being the sort of laugh that starts out a little too hearty and then fades gradually into tears…)
Same gal pal, same bar, last weekend. This One had a birthday. We partied. Hooray. And there was much rejoicing. He imbibed. I offered to drive him home. (It’s on my way. I wasn’t being weird.) I say I’m leaving. Gal pal says, “No, you need to stay here and have fun with me!” I gesture to my other side and say, “Actually, I promised This One I’d drive him home.” Recommence hopeful, inquisitive look with nods and elbows.
Pull into the driveway, This One gives me a polite kiss goodnight, as he often does, and then proceeds to lecture me about whatever the hell it is in my car that smells like gas and why don’t I get that fixed and DON’T I KNOW I COULD EXPLODE AT ANY MOMENT?? and now he’s on the ground with a flashlight looking under my car and I’m all GET OUT FROM UNDER THERE DON’T YOU KNOW THIS COULD EXPLODE AT ANY MOMENT?? and he’s all you are definitely getting bumped up to first place in line on the waiting list and this car is going to my dad’s and getting fixed and I’m all shut up and go to bed and stop trying to fix my fucking car on your goddamned birthday and he’s all whatever.
And so finally he went away.
Next morning at brunch, Gal Pal comes at me again with the hopeful inquisitive. “How’d it go last night????”
“I got a quick kiss and a stern talking to about the state of my car.”
Not the story anyone was hoping for. Except me. I mean, really. It’s not like I’m looking for some wild night of romance when he’s drunk and I’m not. That’s just gross. I’d like to be liked for real, thank you very much. Still, it’d be nice to have to tell him no just once…
Anyway, This One is beautiful and I often tell him he should dress up more to play to his good looks. (To be fair, I would have only ever said it the one time, but it kind of became a joke between us and took on a life of its own.) (He just wears offensive t-shirts all the time.) (Which I am not denying holds its charm, I’m just saying diversify a bit.) We have had many conversations about how I’m determined to get him into a button-down shirt. Specifically a pearl snap. (There is also a joke about my tearing it off of him, but that part seems less and less likely with each passing day… SIGH) So I go shopping for his birthday. A) It’s weird to buy clothes for a dude. B) It’s weird to buy clothes for a dude who isn’t yours. C) It’s weird to buy clothes for a dude who isn’t yours and also doesn’t want the clothes you are buying him.
Good thing I have such a high weird-factor tolerance.
I did have to go to multiple stores, and it did take a significant investment of time, I did not find a pearl snap, and that’s okay because I can save that for Christmas, but at length I found a button-down. (Spoiler alert: He doesn’t like it.) 😀
I did not bring the shirt to his birthday party because the weird factor of giving clothes you bought to a dude who isn’t yours and doesn’t want them in front his friends is actually over my weirdness tolerance levels. So I gave them to him Tuesday at the bar. (Also gave him a Jesus themed Birthday card. Giving atheist friends Jesus themed cards is a favorite pastime of mine. Does this make me an asshole??) (Am I going to hell?? THEY DON’T THINK SO) (Hahahahahahahahahahaha)
Last night I was all excited for going out to fancy expensive dinner with Gal Pal (AND, as it turns out, Andy Buckley, THE ACTOR, because we’re kind of a big deal…) (He’s super nice, btw.) (I love when I meet famous people and they’re nice.) (I also love it when I meet not famous people and they’re nice.) and just before my shift gets over, This One walks in wearing the button down shirt I bought him for his birthday and I am just literally done. Just DONE. Honestly. I’d love to get myself to a point where I just don’t give a shit about a man here or there or anywhere (in a romantic sense, I mean. I want to care about them, just not care about them. You know what I mean.) but he is so dreamy, I don’t even know what to do about it.
I could not stop grinning. He even let me take a selfie with him. Adorable. And he complained to everyone about how much he hated the collar and how the brand was all wrong and how he only wore it at all because I made him, and then I told him that I had meant to text him earlier in the day to let him know that he really didn’t have to ever wear the shirt or even keep it if he didn’t like it, and he said, “No, it’s okay, I guess,” and I swooned like the motherfucking idiot I am, and then and now I just can’t even bring myself to feel bad about it.
So there you go, Highness. Your best friend is an idiot. But a happy idiot. And a happy, single idiot, so I guess it could be considerably worse. One would think at 42 I’d have more sense, but who wants sense anyway? Looks boring to me.
How are you?