Six: The End

How has it only been seven? How am I not on Forty-Seven? How am I this exhausted after a measly seven dates?

You’re going to get the brunt of my mood tonight. I hope you don’t mind. Six started showing flaws. Seven was a nightmare.

Ok, fine. Let’s get this out there: Six stopped communicating some time early yesterday. I brushed it off as not a huge loss, because my list of his accumulating flaws was growing by the encounter.

1. He took FOREVER to decide what to do on Saturday. I spent a good ten minutes rolling my eyes on my end of the phone as he hemmed and hawed over what to do in his own town. It was uncomfortable how long he took. In the end I suggested we meet in the middle and go to his favorite museum.
2. He didn’t know what states make up New England. If you think this is beyond offensive, you’re going to love,
3. He thought, because New England is, admittedly, made up of mostly white people, that they were all rich Republicans. Dude, have you seen the demographics of conservatives and liberals in this country? How can you, as a history major, not know that New England has ALWAYS been a pioneer on the liberal front, embracing Vermont’s legalization of gay marriage AGES ago, Massachusetts’s mandated health care, and Maine. Maine speaks for itself, doesn’t it? It’s Maine for crying out loud.
4. He was completely city-centric. He tended to make multiple comments per encounter about how I lived in the middle of nowhere, outside of civilization, outside the reach of electricity. Had he ever been to my town? No. Did he care to hear that my town was only an hour outside of the city? No. Did he listen when I said that it has a population of 70,000 people and, relative to where I grew up (where the population was a tenth of that and there were no grocery stores and the nearest HIGHWAY was an hour away, never mind a city [three and a half hours, in case you were wondering]) it was quite sizeable? No. I started to grow concerned over whether my future plan to live in a small town in the middle of nowhere would coincide with his plan to be a fancy pants international lawyer at the country’s epicenter.
5. He would send pointed text messages, asking me specific questions, and then, when I would reply, take HOURS to respond. Annoying. If you’re too busy to talk, then don’t text me.
6. There was no chemistry, really. After our second date, I found myself thinking, “Oh, I hope he doesn’t kiss me.” Never a good sign. Not that I was ducking and running like I have with other men (AH HEM, SEVEN!). I was never turned off by him, but I was never dying to get into his pants.
7. And, not to be a bitch, but he lives at home with his parents. And not because of unfortunate circumstances. No, he owns a townhouse that he shares with his friends, but it came out at the end of our second date that he hasn’t stayed there in five months. He’s been living at home, never fully moving into freedom. That’s a kind of momma’s boy I began wondering if I even wanted to touch.

But all of these flaws seemed like things that would come up in the future, and I am doing my best to not jump immediately into THE FUTURE and MARRIAGE and CHILDREN and IF I CAN’T SEE MYSELF WALKING DOWN THE AISLE WITH YOU THEN THIS IS OVER, you know? I’m working on hey that was a fun date and that was a nice conversation and I like how you just put your hand on my back.

Baby steps.

But when he didn’t even try to kiss me at the end of our second date, and I didn’t stress over the lack of intimacy, and when he didn’t respond to my text message that I hope he got home safely, I anticipated never hearing from him again.

This is not a post with any intention of bashing. In fact, can we all rise and give Six a resounding round of applause, because what happened next is worthy of nothing less.

He called me. He called me this morning and told me that he had a really fun time on Saturday and then listed off the reasons why he didn’t think the timing was right: he was applying to law schools far away, he would be busy with applications, and we lived awfully far away from each other, all of which was a roundabout way of saying that he just wasn’t that into me.

But MY GOD he CALLED ME and WAS A GROWN UP. It’s a (belated) Christmas miracle!

(It’s sick and twisted that I’m kind of more attracted to him after the phone call than I was before, right? Yes. Say yes.)

I don’t know what he expected from me, probably not what he got because he avoided my response for a while, rambling off excuse after excuse, all while I sat on my bed smiling like an asshole. And when he was done, I gushed, “Thank you SO much for calling to tell me that. I REALLY appreciate it.” What a refreshing change of pace!

He must have thought I was insane.

But, you know, he was fun. Not uninhibited and outgoing kind of fun like I prefer, but we had a nice time. There is no need to burn bridges. Maybe we’ll still hang out as friends. Maybe, one day, I’ll need a good lawyer. Lord knows, with the way things have been looking lately in the land of love, I will.