At some time or another, we all long for a relationship. For a connection with that special someone; that person to drink hot chocolate with, that person who makes something ordinary into a completely different experience simply because they're there, who can make you laugh so hard you snort.
I was having one of these moments in my life. Thinking that I'd like to date someone, feeling a little blue about not. Times like these happen, and folk remedies include "girls night" or "guys night," chocolate or alcohol, movies, books, bubble baths, exercise, smashing something with something else bigger, etc.
My new suggestion is to simply pick someone who will make you realize exactly what you'd be missing by being "taken." If I had been "in a relationship" or "married" to someone, tonight never would have happened and I wouldn't be able to add it to my Roledex of awkward stories.
It started in my junior English class last semester. There was this cute, witty, and slightly offbeat guy. He fit my general personality type, and I was willing to look over the lack of sideburns because my teacher told me she had accidentally seen a tattoo he had, and I found this both intriguing and hot.
We decided to go out last Friday, and at the end of the date I wasn't sure exactly what I Thought of things. He had been nice, charming, and amusing...but under his "interests" he listed growing plants; plants like mushrooms, opiates, and other hallucinogenic plants. That coupled with his prize fighting occupation turned me off a bit. But he was nice and charming, so maybe I just misunderstood things.
Tonight we watched Little Miss Sunshine at his apartment. The movie was good, we held hands and "cuddled." The movie was over and the conversation was interesting, if not a little strange. There was joke(?) of his serial killer days, and he kidded (?) about a fantasy to have girls dress up like Bill Gates.
These were, unfortunately, not the most awkward parts of the night. When he asked me how many people I'd kissed, it didn't seem too strange. Then questions about the longest time I had ever made out with someone started making me feel like he was a personal trainer sizing up what kind of routine I could handle my first day - and I did not sign up for that personal of a trainer.
I diverted the conversation, and was a little wary to find it returning to talk of kissing. The moment that I started looking for fire exits was when he told me that he had once sprained a girls tongue while making out, and explained to me the specifics of how it had happened. For the next 20 minutes I tried to muster the courage to extricate myself from this situation that I had landed myself in.
When I finally said I should get home, it was late and he asked me for a kiss. I said I didn't know him well enough, despite the stories of his 'shroom-using-serial-killing-spraining-girls-tongues-and-barehanded-boxing-for-major-money days. I kissed him on the cheek and skedaddled, laughing at the sheer hilarity of it all, and basking in my ability to enjoy these situations through my spinsterhood.