Sometimes A Cigar Is Just That
It’s amazing how easily you can trick yourself into believing that there is more under the surface than actually exists, especially if you want it badly enough. Turn any conversational snippet around and around in your head like a cube, examine it, pull it apart, piece it back together and eventually it may start to mean exactly what you want it to mean. Ignore the obvious signs and focus on what lies below and you can fool yourself into a relationship. Sometimes the delusion is far better than the cold hard facts.
It’s been ages since I’ve done this, thankfully, as I have never ever enjoyed playing the games that people play. But I am admitting here and now to you, Darling Internet, that I’ve been there.
I thought that we had something, really I did, because I’d thought that underneath it all, he got me. Really GOT me. My friends didn’t understand what I saw in him, mainly because they are incredibly smart (and good looking to boot!) and they saw what I refused to: he just wasn’t that in to me. Or he was, but only when it was convienent for him. Our friendship was like a festering scab that you cannot stop picking at, no matter how many times your mother reminds you that you should just leave the damn thing alone already.
It lasted for far longer than I’d like to admit, and it took a drunken night of bad sex coupled with his sudden interest in a sort-of friend of mine to bring me to my senses.
He was either an idiot or an asshole, and either way, I didn’t need filth like that in my life.
It’s funny when I think back upon it all, I cannot believe that I was ever so naive and even worse, that I didn’t believe that I was worth more than that. Now, after meeting Dave, I would never even THINK to pick apart his words, if he’s running late, it’s because he’s late, not because he’s really doing something far more sinister or interesting. If he tells me that he likes my shirt, I thank him and move on. It’s a simple statement, nothing more and nothing less.
On the infamous first Non-Date that was actually a date that changed the rest of our lives, we got into a conversation about my next rotation, which was located far closer to his apartment than my home. Sweetly (and stupidly, I reminded him later, after he gave me keys to his house that night. What if I’d been A Crazy and started showing up at his house unannounced? What if I broke in and stole everything he owned, like dirty socks and black jeans? WHAT IF I MOVED IN?), he offered to let me stay at his house on the nights before these early morning clinicals.
Upon realization as to what he had just offered, which sounded awfully presumptious (reader, keep in mind we had not so much as held hands at this juncture), he immediately turned 54 shades of red and stammered, “heh, heh, heh, I guess this means I should get a new futon mattress, heh, heh, heh. BECAUSE MY FUTON IS MY COUCH NOT MY BED, heh, heh, heh.”
My heart warmed about 14 degrees when I realized that this was exactly what I’d been looking for: someone who was honest with me AND HIMSELF about what he wanted. It sounds so simple, when I say this now, but I assure you that this meant more to me than if he’d told me right then and there that his greatest ambition in life was to be a father and husband (which I later found out to be the truth. He’s a rare one, My Daver. He also would give me a pedicure if I could handle anyone touching my feet. He DOES have a brother…..ladies….!).
Of course, as the story goes, I never DID sleep on the futon (bow-chicka-wow-wow), and I have never, ever, taken his honesty for granted (although, occasionally I do wish that he could be a little LESS honest. Like when he told me, oh, I don’t know, several weeks before our wedding that I wasn’t the hottest chick he’d dated. Um, ouch. Snap, Daver, Snap.)
Or is this just me?
The Daver is a wonderful creature…while the purple tinted glasses man was not. I can still take people’s words and twist them although I like to think this is b/c I am in desperate need of a hobby and not because I am crazy. For example, ex boyfriend says he likes my sweater, he must mean he was checking me out and really means he likes my sweater kittens and wants to date me again.
So true, so true. Honesty is a good thing. I did tell you that I knew that N was the person I would spend the rest of my life with when he made me stay at his house when I had THE WORST case of strep-throat I’ve ever had in my life and took care of me-and did I mention that we’d been dating for like 2.5 seconds at that point? I think I moved in 2 months later. Romance is in the little things.
Isn’t it nice just being secure sometimes? I hate the conversations I have with my single friends where we have to analyze every sentence spoken – though I thank you with every fiber of my being for listening to me when I first met many of the boys I dated. You listened to me and fed my neurosis – and this is why I love you.
If it makes you feel better – you are the hottest chick I’ve dated…baby. 😉
Dude, Kristin, thanks, I’m all gooshy inside. I’m so glad to be secure now, so much easier.
Ashley, we both need hobbies. Any ideas?
Pauline, that sounds a lot like Dave and I, well, without the Strep Throat.
Couple of quick points:
Congrats on the 10 pounds. I’m a fan of slower over faster, as I believe, without proof, that it will stay off if you take it off slowly. And ultimately, a pound lost is a pound lost, and every pound is tough. Be proud.
Once again, you have hot female friends and you don’t introduce me? That’s just mean.
I’m glad you and Dave are happy, now can you tell some sort of horrible story about the pain and torture of kids so I don’t feel like such a loser? Thanks for that one. Thanks. 😉
I love your story.
I totally understand – It’s so nice when the person you’re with is someone to escape to and not someone you need to escape from.
And, man, I know the whole ‘there’s honesty and then there’s HONESTY’ – thing. I realize that I’m the love of his life and all, but I really don’t need to know that his ex was a striking and exotic ‘Miss Schaumburg’. There are just somethings that don’t need verbalizing. But, I agree, I’ll take too much rather than too little!
Josh, you are a real enigma. I can’t quite figure you out.
I can try with the women, but none of them are single!
Honestly, I thought that most of my posts were about the pain and torture of having ickle ones!
“Josh, you are a real enigma. I can’t quite figure you out.”
Thanks, that’s one of the best compliments I’ve gotten in a while, not to mention I really like the word enigma. I usually get “difficult”, which well accurate, isn’t nearly as cool.
And most of your posts are about the pain and torture of ickle ones, but when I hear those I don’t feel like I’m missing much of anything.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you’re happy, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m just envious. Pure and simple.
Awwww….thanks Josh.
Think about it like this: you are able to go out whenever you want, a luxury that I am no longer afforded. PLUS (and more importantly) you can pee in private. God, I miss that.
Pee in private, with the door open.
Nice. I try that. But when I shut the door (God forbid), I get 3 cats fighting outside, a dog nervously pacing, the baby weeping copiously, and Ben trying to blather on about his day.
See, ENJOY the singleness!
‘He’s Just Not The Into You.’
The overanalysis of three women (out of a 20 character ensemble cast). Matches this post quite well. And it’s quite funny at times.
‘He’s Just Not That Into You.’
The overanalysis of three women (out of a 20 character ensemble cast). Matches this post quite well. And it’s quite funny at times.