All The Guys I’ve Almost Dated

I’m impartial toward most things in my life; a real love it or leave it type complex. Evidently overlooking my respect for Katy Perry, my interest in group activities and bad coffee. I honestly do try to avoid bias, especially when experiencing new things, I’d much rather figure out what I like for myself and then work backwards if things go all Roman empire on me. What happens you see, I usually choose what is right and what is good, a yes first, think later kind of dingbat.

I make a routine out of polite socialising and the status quo. Until I realise I hate most of the people I’ve befriended and I HATED J Cole’s new album- and so I pick up a novel and don’t text anyone back. I delete the new album and then I drop my phone in water and everything is quiet again. I seem to find some sacrilegious delight in neglecting the routine that I’ve maintained and picking new, exciting most likely temporary things.

This complex, my dear digital friends does not dwindle when it comes to the opposite sex. I once went on a date with a boy that knew by the time we ordered our pasta that I was the one. He was my first ever real date, and to be blunt I only agreed to lunch because earlier that year my mother insisted that if I were a lesbian I would be completely accepted and I really ought to come out.

The notion of being a lesbian didn’t insult me or anything but I decided I should make more of an effort in asserting my interest in males. So here I am opposite pasta boy and he’s telling me what he wants to be when he grows up, and he pays for everything and he holds my hand and look it’s all very lovely. Except that I hate everything about him and his absolute, finality toward his feelings about me.

We were fifteen at the time, still growing into our bodies and figuring out why face scrubs blatantly lie to such innocent souls. I had no idea who I was, how in the world could anybody else figure that out let alone like the concept enough to date it? By that afternoon he had told my mother about our budding relationship, forced my little brother into playing with him and to my absolute horror he did the one thing I would never want a man to do unless instructed by me; he took the liberty of introducing himself to my eldest brother.

At first I thought they were just walking in the same direction, after all the canteen is the centre of the universe at any football match. Alas on a second paranoid glance I see his arm extended and my brothers smirk. Relishing in the boys easy self assurance my brother initiates some kind of interaction and I sink further into my chair.

I can only compare such a moment to that last part in Rogue One when the entirety of Scarif gets blown up and everyone just dies with the planet. Well Scarif translates to my temper and you can only hope the imbecile understands Star Wars references. Pasta boy managed to shed light on a part of me that no amount of anger management could hinder. So you know what I did? You bet it boys and girls, I said yes to a second date.

The year of my sixteenth birthday I found myself another tall dark and handsome- sans interest in prematurely meeting my family. We didn’t have a damn thing in common, but I really liked his lips. Reason enough to go to the movies every couple of weeks and watch him play football I guess. Fast forward to him meeting my friends and then I came to it- the boy doesn’t say a word- which admittedly you would think is an ideal kind of situation. Look I am a talker, and the only thing a woman with an opinion on absolutely everything needs more than a listener; is someone with enough interest in her opinions to respond (nothing too extensive).

If the boy were a flavour he’d have to be vanilla. What he made up for in height he lacked in basic social skills. Are you picking up what my sorry self is putting down? Not wanting to rock the boat, or attend the new hunger games alone for that matter, I continued to meet the quiet boy with lovely lips at the movies and I put kisses on the end of my texts until I bought a new phone and forgot to save his number. oops.

You, my digital friend are probably thinking that my 15/16 year old self is not only young and stupid but very much in the past; but I argue that the habits ring true. Since my first innocent, brief encounters I have always found my self in terrible situations and I always have to be an awful person to get out of them. I’ve let a guy down so easy I ended up asking him on a date (cancelled last minute) I’ve “forgotten”plans and headed to house parties. I’ve conversed with a guy for close to two months purely because I couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse to cut him off. I once let my eldest brother threaten a boy over text because I couldn’t think my way out of the shit storm I landed in.

I do not for a second condone this behaviour, in fact this post is a formal apology to every guy I almost dated. Furthermore a formal apology to the man i’m dating now; not because I haven’t learnt to deny advances but because I still order my usual and regret it once we’ve payed, because it takes me three quarters of a movie’s plot to figure out I don’t like it and because I still say yes to tea knowing full well I wont finish it. Impartial may be without bias but it is so incredibly without commitment. I have no way of fixing this trait and even if I did, when I cut it out of my repertoire, it will happen so suddenly- with such assertion and finality that everyone will be as confused as I am.

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