I grunt, annoyed that anyone dare call me when a simple text will surely do the trick. BUT, I answer.
“Hey, I wanted to call and see if you’d like to go on a date with me this weekend?”
CUT. This isn’t how life works. I mean I do grunt any time my phone rings and 9 times out of 10 I do prefer a text to the production a phone call can turn into. What I mean to say is, tell me the last time anyone took the time to call you up and properly ask you on a date. See what I did there? I just said phone calls put me in a state of distress and then promptly complained about the lack of receiving them. This is only one of the many layers of what my family has dubbed being a cold fish. I want a call, I don’t want a call. Layer number two? Feelings. I’m an independent bad bitch and I don’t need a man. I don’t have time for relationships or fuckboys. A bottle, er, glass of wine later and I’m crying about the idea of being alone for the rest of my life. I hate cats which means I can’t even qualify to be the spinster cat lady. Fuck. Layer number three: dickness. If you’re enough of a dick no man wants to be within spitting distance of you. Problem solved. What are we on? Layer number four? Emotional dependency. I am a leech. A secret, ninja leech. I am the kind of leech a man never knows is even attached and then, inevitably, I’m dislodged. I can’t even blame the poor guys, the dislodging is a direct result of my lack of expression. I could be madly in love with a man but unless he can crack the Da Vinci code and figure my shit out, he most likely is under the impression that I hate his face. Hence the dislodging. Fuck. More wine. A little Bumble disappointment aaaand we’re back to square one. Alone and in denial that emotions actually exist inside of my being. Now, maybe that doesn’t seem so tragic – hell it’s only four layers right? WRONG. There are microscopic layers within those four that are the things of nightmares.
After seven years of watching me ice out men or sabotage any sort of relationship I was a part of, my family kindly gave me the title of cold fish. I don’t show affection, I don’t hug, I never give kisses. I don’t call men back who express interest and why does it seem like I’m initiating FWB situations rather than healthy relationships? Well, I finally gave in and took a leap of faith five years ago and look how that ended? (See first post). Disaster. So I went back to my cold fish ways. Enter Mr. Spaghetti from more recent posts. This is going swimmingly. Now I know I am capable of feelings and emoting. Fuck. The knowledge that I might actually enjoy a real, loving relationship makes my hands sweat.
Oh, a Tinder match. YES!