Now it’s been quite a long while since I’ve dated, I feel I must admit this up front, rather than try to be all lookit me, I’m An Authority On Dating, see my credentials? Sure, I’ve dated men from television, hell, I’ve even married them, but I can tell you for certain that neither Mr. Bourdain or Mr. D’Onofrio has the slightest idea that an anonymous Midwestern girl is married to them. Probably for the better.
But I was talking with a good friend of mine last night about dates and dating and all of the assorted bullshit that goes along with it. Because at least 99.9% of it IS bullshit, only you don’t realize it at the time. This friend of mine has been a friend for the last 14 or so years, so it’s safe to say that we’ve been through a lot of that maturing process together.
We’ve also spent a inordinate amount of time talking about the motivations behind why Mr. Dickfore didn’t call. Maybe he got lost in Siberia and his cell phone had no reception at his grandmother’s funeral where his dad ran over his cat. But I’m sure he’s still into you. He’ll call, I swear.
When we were younger this was sport for us. We’d grab a pack of smokes, hit up the local diner and spend literally hours deciphering Why He Acted This Way. There was a modicum of fun involved, of course, but the desperation was mighty. And we weren’t exactly Losers with a capitol ‘L.’
Yet we couldn’t believe that anything about dating was as straightforward as it actually is. If a dude likes you, he’ll find the time to call no matter WHO died. If he wants to see you, HE WILL. If dating is enough work that you find yourself rehashing ad nauseum with your friends and logicating (why YES, I made up that word, thank you for noticing!) why he didn’t call/see you/showed up with another girl, it’s probably not worth it.
What bugs me the most is not the realization a la Sex In The City that he’s just really not that into you, but that I wasted so many fucking hours of my life obsessing over men who didn’t give a flying poo about me. I can only imagine how much more I could have done if I hadn’t wasted so much time wondering if he’d like my hair straight or curled, my pink or my red shirt, or why he said that he liked that Averil Lavine song (shudder, shudder).
I wish that damn book had come out when I was younger and before I realized that relationships weren’t that hard to figure out. At least the good ones aren’t.
What do you wish you could tell your younger self?