I’m just gonna write, despite crippling “I suck today” ethers circulating about my person. By the way, did you notice I didn’t do this week’s PROMPT? Despite private email exchanges with Cheri urging her to stop being a pansy ass, I myself pansy assed out. Still, I’ll do it. Really, I will. But am I jinxing myself? (That’s gay, right?)
And guess what? I was asked out today, or more like two weeks ago, and true to form, I couldn’t say “no,” even though I’m married. But don’t worry. I kept The Rock apprised of every possible adulterative advance and had his full support to stop being an idiot and just tell the guy I was married already. However, first I’m gonna back up and tell you how I can’t say “no.” Case(s) in point: I’m the girl who invites bedecked Mormons into her home and accepts their proffered Bibles, who pledges money to the local Firefighters’/Pot Growers’/Meth Lab Development Fund even though I gave money just last week, who chats up telemarketers because I feel bad for them, and who says “Yes! I’ll attend your multilevel marketing/Silpada Jewelry/Pampered Chef/hot sex toy party and also purchase an under $50 gift!” because apparently, my parents raised me to be subservient and prone to work-from-home business schemes. Either way, I cannot, will not, was taught to not, say “no.”
So. The guy who asked me out. Well, he was cute. And carried a guitar (do NOT get me started on guys with guitars), but that’s not the point. The crux is three-fold. One, I don’t wear a wedding ring because my bloated-ass fingers do not accommodate such, and two, I didn’t get that I was being asked out until it was too late; and three, I kinda liked being asked out.
Wait. I need to back up again.
All right. Over the past several months, I’ve done my freelance writing/editing at a local Starbucks. And back in the summer, a man approached me at said Starbucks and told me that the indie coffee shop he and I USED to frequent (truth be known, I’d been there just twice and do not remember him) had just been mowed over by a 90-year-old man who mistook the gas pedal for the brake. Also, Oldie McLead Foot completely decimated the spot I’d been sitting in. So there was an emotional connection. I instantly felt tied to Guitar Guy who clued me in to the fact that my bodily bits had nearly been scattered to the four winds by an elderly nutjob.
After that, I saw the Guitar Guy off and on, never thinking anything of it. He’d say “hi,” make conversation and et. al, etc., and so on, but I just thought he was a “coffee house dude.” (Whatever that is.)
(OK. It’s a guy who goes to coffee places to meet chicks.)
So I just kept my eyes on my computer screen, said “hello,” when I saw him and tried to convey that I was not indeed, ignoring him. But really, he is a nice guy, and I’m a rag because I’m making it seem like he’s a loser. Which would really be more of a reflection on me.
I’m bugging myself.
Anyway, time passes. And then, a few weeks ago, on Valentine’s Day to be exact, I’m sitting in Starbucks, doing my thing. Next thing I know, I hear Guitar Guy talking to the Starbucks manager, laughing over the fact that neither one of them have a Valentine’s date. OK, I get it. I didn’t have a Valentine’s date for 29 of my 40 years. (Some years, I still don’t.) It happens. But it did seem like he said it awfully loud and obviously.
Guitar Guy plops down next to me and says “Hello.” He’s such a gentle, sweet soul, truly, and I reply, “Hi! But ohmygosh I’m so busy,” as in “Can’t talk.” So he respects that until the verrrrryy end, when I was packing up, and at that point, asks what I’m doing for Valentine’s Day. I answer truthfully and say I forgot it actually was Valentine’s Day (The Rock and I went out the night before) and then realize: this answer might suggest that I’m single.
Then, before I can collect myself, I’m asked what I do to exercise.
Now. That question could be taken either way. Is he saying I’m bloated? ‘Cuz, I know that, but I thought I did well to keep the paunchy parts under wraps, or…is he entre vousing into an ask-out situation?
I’m not sure. I don’t want to assume anything, so I say, “Nothing,” which is the damn sad truth, and he tells me he hikes here and there and mountain bikes there and here and is generally fit and athletic. I nod enthusiastically, because it’s great that people don’t sit in front of their computers every day, not that I’d know any freaking thing about that, and think “Wow. Exercise is good.”
Also, I may have said that out loud.
At that point, Guitar Guy says we should exercise together sometime and I’m still back at my butt is bloated and don’t respond right away. Did he just ask me out? Probably not, because I look like a hobo and didn’t shower that day.
I hem and haw and don’t give an affirmative, but also don’t say “I’m married,” because it seemed like I should have said that long ago, but I assumed men don’t look at me anymore, and how can I be expected to anticipate that someone might want to still exercise with me after all these years?
Anyway, he leaves after an intense eye-contact-to-eye-contact handshake goodbye and I stupidly, stupidly call The Rock and tell him I think someone just asked me out, and he says, “But you told him you were married, right?” and I had to say “No. No I didn’t. I took his Bible and I raised him some Silpada fine jewelry.” And when The Rock questioned me further, I had to say that I just plain felt bad. It takes guts to ask someone out and I didn’t have the heart to say I was married. Also, I’m insecure. And if he wasn’t really asking me out, I lacked the intestinal fortitude to hack that affront to my fragile self esteem.
(Could this story drag on any longer?)
So what happened next is that today, two-ish weeks after V-Day, I ran into Guitar Guy again, and he handed me his card with his email and phone number and I still didn’t say “I’m married,” because where do you stick that phrase in? and I ended up emailing him two seconds after he left to say I had a husband and Guitar Guy was like, “Whatever.”
Actually, I think his exact words were: “You never know until you approach someone where there heart is at!” and at that moment, I knew I made the right call.