2 July 2011: Overthinking and derinking
My tendency to over think almost any situation is legendary. It is the single biggest flaw I have, amplified by the fact that I talk a lot. You see, if you have a lot of thoughts I guess that is your own business, but for me it is the point at which my ability to articulate almost anything proceeds to proverbially insert my foot into my mouth almost daily.
Let’s take the date in question as an example. For almost a year now there has been this guy who has been, well, interested in who I am, or how well filled my C-cups are, as the story may side. I choose, however, to believe that my intellect had at least a smidge to do with the gallant lad’s pursuit of the illusive date that kept on being promised and postponed. However, our gentleman of the hour is no fool and his tact and tactics eventually culminated in my acquiesce to the long-requested meet.
I am still who I am and for once I decided to be just that. The airs and fairs of first dates generally make me more nervous than what both parties should be. Don’t get me wrong, I am loathe to discourage any sort of effort made in my honour. A woman must be wooed after all, and part of that is the fun of going out to dinner or an unexpected road trip or sundowners or a theatre show or a concert or whatever. High maintenance I am, and I can see nothing wrong with a guy treating me like a spoilt princess deserving of such devotion. But ask me what I prefer on a first date? Barbeque chicken wings, brandy and an extremely comfortable pub with some good music.
I know! it seems so… tacky. In particular for those who know me – I am, after all, not without my own set of sophisticated and sometimes even snobbish standards. But be that as it may, to my delight Mr Man agreed to derinking and music and series watching at my flat. The three things that put me in a good mood before the evening even commenced. Proclaimed by him to be the night he has been waiting for for like ever, I tried to at least make a fuss and dress appropriately, clean my flat and shave my legs. (Given that it is winter in South Africa I should get a darn medal!)
The evening was far from the one I expected and I was surprised at how much fun I was having. I’m not one to kiss and tell but I’m also far from one that is going to shut up if I got kissed that well, because girls, let’s face it, we all know there are few men out there that still know how to kiss. It is the simplest of acts, but the single most important. If you cannot kiss, I cannot be interested in you. Discussion over.
But the night was not – Far from it in fact. By the end of the night I looked at myself in the mirror and that little mischievous smile I know so well told me that I liked him. This is where my thoughts should have stopped. It is, after all, that easy and uncomplicated. You like someone, you like them. End of hypothesis. Just let it happen.
The where-is-it-going and does-he-feel-the-same-way debate that immediately messes with my head is unnecessary and wholly unhelpful. And I dont even want to know the answers right now! Particularly since my belief about relationships is what it is. I don’t want serious, clingy, where-are-you-going-questions-when-I-get-up-to-use-the-bathroom type of commitment. But then I also don’t want oh-you-banged-another-chick-last-night-and-now-you’re-calling-me type of commitment.
And as my thoughts whirl in my head the biggest no-no begins to unfold when I cannot for the life of me control what it is that I’m saying, and what I’m saying leaves me looking like a mental case with some serious issues about what she wants.
I hate it. I hate that I know what I want, but I can never quite say it right. I can write it alright, but as soon as I try and explain it to someone it comes out all wrong. What I want is not a boyfriend in the normal sense of the word, but I do want someone with whom I can have fun with exclusively. I don’t quite know what the difference is, and if I had my way I’d just figure it out as we go along, but the damn voices in my head won’t let me just live and feel and have fun. For me, I kissed a boy and I liked him, but the million questions in my mind freak me out to the point where I am convinced I must have freaked him out too and that there is no way he’ll be back or that he’ll like me too.
Even as I type that a plethora of questions flare up again. So before I proverbially insert my foot into my mouth yet again, I am going to insert a THE END into this post right now.