You give love a bad name . . .
I had a date. After many years and many boyfriends, I had my first blind date set up by a co-worker.
We got along fabulously on the phone. Our machines loved each other.
yet when we met in person, it was two people meeting who hold themselves inmuch higher esteem than probably they should.
And now I am tempted to call and ask: what was it? did i look older than you expected or hoped for, althought I am six years younger than you? Did the extra pounds around the midriff put you off, even though you had the skinniness of an old man and the thinning hair to boot?
Or was it that I didnt' wash my hands before we had lunch and you did?
It's questions like these that I would like to ask, for informational purposes, but have to weigh: could my ego and self esteem withstand the answers?
And would you answer truely? I know I wouldn't.
But perhaps truth would be the greatest kindness. Perhaps not.
I would have gone out with him again; he had a sense of humor, which I find attractive. I did not find him physically attractive.
So not being hot for him makes it easier to take his rejection. I can shrug it off, nothing lost. No desire thwarted or worse, spurned.
So does this mean I'm through? Had my fill of men? Or do I lie dormant, waiting for a spring that, when or if it comes, shows its path clearly and cruely, on the face, the skin on the hands, the jowl of the check. And then to believe in "love" versus that which drives us all?