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It’s Not Enough to be Pretty

November 6, 2013

I walked into the Blue Moon around midnight wearing the little black skirt that flared just above my knees and the cute polka dot top and black shoes I had just bought earlier that day. I was late getting there. I had spent the last couple of hours dancing with Indians on a stage in St. Martinville. (That’s another story.) The Moon was crowded. The first person I recognized was Black Michael. I gave him a hello hug and he asked me to dance. I twirled around, my little skirt flying and smiled at Michael and every one else who met my eyes. When the song was over he took my hand and led me to the back porch so we could catch up. We made small talk and then danced again. This time a waltz. I like dancing with him. He’s the perfect size for me. We fit. I like the way he moves. He doesn’t execute textbook cajun or zydeco moves. I have to adjust to him a little, figure out how to follow his lead. He just does his own Michael thing, moving to the music naturally.

I felt pretty that night. I could see that men were looking at me. I got compliments. It’s nice to get that validation, to see that look, to be asked to dance. But obviously it’s not enough.

I was married from the age of 23 to 43. My husband always told me I was beautiful, even when I had put on a good 40 pounds. I never felt ugly or un-sexy with him. That wasn’t one of our problems. After we split I was thrown into the strange new world of being single. I didn’t know if men would find me attractive. I slowly lost weight as I found my way back from the trauma of ending a 20 year marriage and I found out that I’m pretty. I found out that men will look at me, seek to be closer to me, buy me drinks, make conversation, try to sleep with me. Still, it’s not enough.

Of all the interested parties, the Syrian doctors, the encounters, the numbers given. Only two men have actually taken me out on a date. And I don’t understand why.

Michael is a perfect example. We dance, we talk, we laugh. There’s some chemistry there. After months of seeing him out occasionally he asked for my number. He texted me one night a few weeks ago. “Hey it’s Michael. Remember me?” A brief conversation about nothing in particular and nothing more. When I see him out, he’s all attention until a shiny object catches his eye and he’s paying the same attention to someone else.

There was the twin who spent all evening talking to me. He asked for my number. I walked him and his brother home. He loaned me a novel. I returned the book with a thank you card and a business card, just in case. And nothing.

The guy who followed me to the after-party one night and kissed me on the front porch of someone’s house. He got my number. He wanted me to go to his house the next day. I wasn’t comfortable with that so I attempted to plan a drink date with him and he kept canceling. Then I gave up trying. I saw him at an event recently. “Gordon, right?” I asked.

“Yeah. Marie, right,” he said.

“Yeah.” I was working the event. It was our annual fundraiser.

“It’s good to see you. I’ll come find you later.”……….and…not so much. Silence.

I don’t get it. I’ve had dozens of guys tell me how beautiful, smart and interesting I am. So why don’t they want to get to know me better? Why don’t they want to date me?

I’m not expecting to find my soul mate tomorrow. I don’t think I’m even ready to get into a serious relationship. I just want to date. And what I’ve been doing up until now is not dating.

I met an adorable young man at that fundraiser a few weeks ago. He had a crush on our receptionist, Kelly. I asked him why he didn’t go talk to her, ask her out. He got all nervous and said, “But she’s older than me. I still live with my mom.” They’re both in their twenties. “I don’t have any money,” he continued.

“You know, we just want somebody to be nice to us,” I told him. “Can you afford a cup of coffee? Do you have access to a car?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“So, you make some peanut butter sandwiches, borrow a blanket from your mom and take her to the park for a picnic. Or ask her to have a cup of coffee. You can afford a cup of coffee, right? That’s all we want,” I confessed.

He stammered and told me he didn’t think he could do that.

“You guys don’t understand how hot you are and how intimidated we feel,” he said.

“Yeah and in the meantime we’re over here asking ourselves, ‘Why didn’t he ask for my number? Why didn’t he call? Why didn’t he ask me out?'”

I told Kelly about him. She agreed with my advice. He hasn’t asked her out.

So, I’m going to go back to my life coach and we’re going to tackle this problem. I’m both curious and frightened about what guidance will come from our sessions.

I don’t know exactly what I want. I was thinking about it last night, alone in my apartment. I want someone to ask about my day. I want someone to ask me to join them on a Friday or Saturday night. I want someone to invite me into their lives a little bit and who can enter into mine, a little. I want passion and great sex and some romance. I want to be respected and valued. I want a friend. A hot friend. I want the look of Tennis Bashir, the skills of Z, the intellect of #5, the confidence of Syrian Doctor (minus the arrogance) and the humor of Pickle.

I want to just date, dammit.


From → Rantings

One Comment
  1. GaneshaGirl permalink

    Hang in there. You’ll find him somewhere.

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