Most people can coast through life casually ignoring distraction and clearing obstacles with ease, that is until one day you open your mailbox and find the most dreaded type of letter imaginable. There is all kinds of annoying mail, spam mail, returned mail, blackmail, but nothing compares to the horror contained this mail: the invitation to a work party. Yes the prospect of free cocktails and nosh on my employer's dime is worth an hour of my free time, but the words "RSVP with or without plus 1" is notorious for striking fear into the hearts of singles everywhere. Suddenly your life flashes before your eyes, your heart starts beating faster, adrenaline sets in--isn't this how people describe near-death experiences? Two simple unassuming words, plus 1, can have such a powerful impact. Suddenly, you're being forced to do the math for one minus a plus one.
Relationships are all about numbers. Don't move in with someone until you've been together one year. Don't have sex until the third date. Don't bother talking to the perfect 10s, which isn't hard because the first thing I realized about the midwest is there are no 10s, the 9s are all slutty, the 8s think they're 9s, and I've already dated all the 7s. It's a mathematical nightmare. But why is it that we can be content with our lives and what we have until someone invites us to a party, wedding, or vacation? Then suddenly, being single seems to be an insufficient sum. And this sum is fine for some, but I can't hold out for my sum-one one more day.
I foolishly responded plus one. So now the clock is ticking, and unlike my internal relationship clock, which gives me another ten years to find a relationship, my plus one clock gives me about ten days to find a man I can dress up and drag around for a night.
I scroll though my digital dating rolodex and see a lot of exes and a lot of Xs too--men that you didn't break up with but have been crossed off for some reason or another. I stupidly brought up to baby-daddy the other day (guy I'm dating that is Plus 1 kid, and plus 24 years on me) that I was thinking about where this is and could be going. Men hate this conversation. All men. I hate that I even need to have it. But my plus 1 caused a chain reaction in my attitude about dating. I don't want to coast along anymore. I don't need the relationship and all the bells and whistles right now, but I do need to know I'm working toward something.
We went on a date to an italian restaurant, split a bottle of wine shared a salad and then cut the check in half as well. Normally halfsies on dates are a clear sign that someone thinks of me as a friend and not a lover. Half a check equals not wholly interested. The whole dinner I kept trying to segue into the conversation. Then as we walked around the neighborhood I tried to bring it up. Then as we sat on the couch watching bad TV I tried to bring it up again. I of course waited until he was in bed and about to fall asleep to blurt out (like an amateur, I'd like to add), "So what do you think about us?"
"I like it, it's good."
"I mean, what about where this is going?" This time I was met with silence so I went out on a limb, "I mean I know you're probably sleeping with other people."
"Some."
"So, yeah. How about not, and just sleeping with each other. We don't have to change anything, but we would just stop seeing other people. So this would be exclusive. Just, you know, taking your temperature here."
"Yeah, I don't know." Temperature taken, and no fever present whatsoever. In fact, I don't even think my thermometer is working any more. "It's just a tough time right now." And 180° later,
"It's just something to think about. I don't even want to do that. Pshh, that's, no I mean we're like 24 years apart you've got a house and dog and stuff. Okay goodnight."
I clearly misread the situation. In the financial world, that conversation was the emotional equivalent of a risky investment that plummeted almost instantly. It seems that lately my ability to read men has been really off. Is this just a case of not checking my math, or are the variables just too variable? And now I'm going on a date tonight with baby-daddy tonight and I don't know what we're doing. I know where we're eating, but not what's eating me. Am I mad because he doesn't want a relationship, or because he was the last guy standing. I mean it's like I'm on the bachelor, I was down to the last contestant, presumably the winner, and just as I was ready to declare him the winner he decided to pull out.
And then there were none, which would be fine if I wasn't in need of one. Relationships are complex equations, the kind with not only tons of numbers but strange inexplicable symbols involved too. I'm starting to think it's like reading the matrix, this trying to figure out where guys are going. Shouldn't it be easier now as we get older? Or is age like a multiplier for complications?
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