“I’m so busy–with my job and my kids. I have next to no time.”
“Sorry I didn’t respond, I’m a really bad texter.”
“Seeing each other once in a while for maybe dinner, drinks and sex, I might sign up for that?”
Paul Simon says there are 50 ways to leave your lover, but I believe there are at least 100 ways to say, “I’m not into you enough to date you or make you a priority, but you might make a good fuck buddy.” Of course, without really saying it, because duh – what woman would jump out of her clothes for that?
If you read my rose-colored review of one of my favorite first dates, you might be wondering what happened next, after I got all badass and texted him, and he was all, “would love to see you again,” and I was all, “I’m gonna write about what a great date/guy this was.”
I didn’t say that, I just did it. And I’ll leave the post up because I meant every word when I wrote it . . . but I cringe a little when I read it now. Here’s why:
First, I wrote about my idealized version of both the man and the evening. I told you all the feel-good stuff because, frankly, I needed some positive vibes up in here, with all the talk about dick pics and online shenanigans and creepy texters. It was a great date – but, honestly? There were a few thorns in those rose-colored glasses.
- He’d been flaky at arranging our date, which took weeks to schedule.
- We lived an hour apart and he didn’t offer to drive to me–my choices were, drive to him or meet him halfway.
- At one point during the weeks that we were chatting, I learned he was also sending messages to my friend on a dating site, so I shut down our conversation (which picked back up after they actually met, had a date, and then she then shut him down in favor of another man).
I still agreed to meet him. I’m usually smarter. But not gonna lie, I’m a sucker for a tall guy with a great smile. Sue me.
So we did go out and had a great time together, that’s absolutely true. He was funny and fun and a great conversationalist. And very cute. But what followed the week after took away some of that rosy glow: It was a Week of Cliches via texts on my phone. Refer back to the top for specifics.
And then his texts became a litany of excuses: He has kids. He’s super busy. He has a stressful job. There’s an hour’s distance between us. He’s a bad texter. It’s not a good time for a serious relationship.
He did sound interested at one point in a FWB arrangement, but eventually there was nothing left to say but the truth: This was not going to go anywhere. Not even to bed. So I said, “take care,” and then went to take care of myself with cocktails at my friend’s house. Liquid therapy is delicious when your BFF is an amazing mixologist.
The other truth: Aside from the initial chemistry that I (and clearly only I) felt, there were red flags. First, if a man won’t offer to drive to my ‘hood for a first date, that’s a bad sign. Lack of effort in the beginning doesn’t bode well for the future. I shouldn’t have overlooked that.
Second, every cliche he sent to my phone chipped away at my respect for him. Saying “I would love to see you again” in conjunction with every poor excuse not to (save a possible drinks/hook-up opportunity) is frustrating and exhausting.
And third, and perhaps most importantly, being into me enough for meaningless sex is not being into me enough. I have too much respect for myself to become someone’s warm body or available vagina. If he didn’t want to see me again for anything more than just a fuck, he should have been honest from the beginning.
I have a strong personality. I’m blunt. I don’t like to mess with other people’s hearts or minds and I won’t beat around the bush when it comes to telling it like it is. This may come across as pushy or overbearing or bitchy, though I don’t mean to be. I simply value honesty and I hate games.
I’m not holding my breath, but I am holding out hope that one day I will meet someone who values the same and hates the game. Until then, I’m adding this to my list of deal-breakers: “Incessant use of stupid cliches.”
If you can’t be honest, you can at least get creative . . .