Some may call me a prude, but I prefer the word old-fashioned. My parents raised me the right way and I live in such a way that I have no regrets. I consider my own bed a very sacred area that houses my sweet dreams and warm blankets. I view other people's bed as somewhere I don't belong -- that's their space.
When other people don't feel the same, it kind of shocks me.
Some guys and the things they're willing to say just shocks me, too.
I received a message last week from this guy. We sent a few messages back and forth. He has a steady job that he likes, he's educated, and he has a brother. These things I know. I don't recall his name, though.
He works and lives about 45 minutes outside of Raleigh and he told me that I shouldn't worry about doing a long-distance kind of thing because he's in Raleigh all the time. I kind of rolled my eyes at his presumptuousness that I would even give him a chance. But, then again, I guess confidence is good-looking on a guy.
He messaged me while on his way to Raleigh for a business conference. He said that he was having to entertain clients all day but he would be open to entertaining a date that night. I did a little crooked smile at the idea of having a drink or two with a guy.
Not three messages later, I stopped smiling.
"I just got to my hotel. Damn, this is too big for one person. You should come keep me company."
ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME.
This guy was nice, y'all. He seemed to have a good family and I thought he had decent raising. He could carry on a conversation and he allegedly loved sushi and said he would compromise on what movies to watch. He was kinda cute and he had this witty sense of humor that made me giggle.
What homeboy doesn't have is a clue.
It is my personal belief that women have been watered down to be just a few things: easy, shallow, make-up wearing, cosmopolitan drinking Top Guns with a mouth like a sailor. We're supposed to be that all while wearing stilettos.
Um, no.
Women are absolutely allowed to be those things. That's our choice. But that's not what we're made for. We're made to be strong and to be talented. We're made to be smart and to be multi-taskers who take on the day without fear.
The need to compare ourselves to one another has robbed us, slowly but surely, of our identities and our credit scores. We, as a society, are so buried in debt and that we can't laugh at the days to come because we're so busy making that next dollar to rob Peter to pay Paul. We're counting calories, not because we want to be healthy, but because we need to be skinniest woman in the bar to pick up a man. Excuse me, a male.
Women are made to want security. We are made to crave the care and attention it takes for us to feel secure and wanted. We've abandoned true security and taken on pseudo security: if I can feel good for one minute, that will get me through a rough patch. Once I break up with this guy, I can find another one and he'll make me feel pretty.
Sorry, people. That's not what I'm looking for. I want the real thing. I want the be-all end-all that I've watched growing up. I want to be dancing on the screened-in porch when I'm 70. I want to make-out in the kitchen and make my kids get really grossed out. I want to have a guy bring me lunch at work and learn all of my teammates' names.
I had this vision when I started this experience that I would eventually go on a date with a guy from this whole shenanigan. I would be super excited and giddy about it and I would probably buy a new outfit. You would wait by your computer screens the next day, waiting for the full re-cap on a blog post. I would tell you about the awkward jokes he made and how I spilled something.
I still want that. I think I'll always want that.
But that isn't going to stop me from wanting more.
Sorry, homeboy. Your bed is going to stay too big for one person. Until you have the whole world to offer me, I want nothing to do with your sheets.
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