One of My Worst Moments

A writer should have various goals for their writing. To entertain, inform and sadden readers are all noble pursuits to be certain. But one must also be relate-able, today is my attempt at that.

Historically, when it comes to the area of my life that concerns interacting with the opposite sex in an intimate or social scenario, things have been akin to mixing pharmaceutical compounds and alcohol, which is to say really bad and generally sad for everyone involved or nearby watching.

There was the lady who told me on a first date about the abortions (Yes, plural.) she’d had previously in her life. Then there was the woman who told me that my resemblance to her father was a turn on and proceeded to grab some things that one generally doesn’t expect to be touched in the middle of a quiet date at a family restaurant. I’ll let your mind wander on that one reader.

In spite of all that though, I am not entirely innocent regarding the fuck ups that have occurred in my love life. Sometimes, they are monsters of my own creation and forged in my buffoonery.

Once a few years ago, I blew off a nice lady that I had plans to hang out with in order to go hook up with some trashy sorority sister. Later on, I caught the sister stealing from me and found out that the nice lady was very interested, but then moved on when it seemed like I wasn’t at all.

Then, a little while after that I made one of those absurd online dating profiles. You know the ones you see on places like Match and OkCupid. It didn’t really draw in anyone for a while.

But then, as fate always seems to do, things changed in March of 2015.

For the first time in a long while, I met a nice lady through the internet. She was worldly, not scary, had similar interests and wasn’t very close to her family at all. Truly the total package, we went out for a few dates and then I did something most at home in terrible sitcoms on CBS/Fox.

I broke it off, on her birthday.

Yes, I actually carried out one of the most dickish things a person can do. Maybe it was some reptilian part of my brain acting in overdrive, but the thought of spending more time and committing to this person began to horrify me. So, like many before me, I sent a text.

“Hey, sorry but due to some family matters I have to quit school and return up north, sorry. For what it is worth you seemed really nice and it was cool to spend time with you. Take care.”

Though I felt relieved at the time, when I look back on this now I can’t help but feel hideous and borderline uncouth about it. It’s never appropriate to not end it with someone in person unless they’re a hideous or insanely violent individual. Much like the women I mentioned earlier, in this scenario I was the crazy one. Whether I’ve learned from this or not remains to be seen though.


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