When a single woman out on the prowl claims to have high standards, what does that mean? She’s looking for a man that’s good on paper? Got a set of abs you can grate cheese on? Impeccable hygiene? It really all depends on whom you’re talking to.
I believe I have high standards when it comes to compassion. And strength. To me, a man is only as strong as his ability to relate. Sense a rant coming on? Good intuition on your part. Lucky you, because my intuition is almost always on the fritz. Last night was an exception, however.
Shawn, the cutie I have been serial dating for a while (four consecutive dates is a big deal for me) – this is the guy who likes my fangs – invited me to the movies with him last night. I was all for it, as long as it wasn’t Cloverfield, the psycho monster-taking-over-NYC flick that had gotten shitty reviews from everyone. Incidentally, this is the only movie he wanted to see. After some serious 10 year-old whining from a 28-year-old man, I gave in, figuring how bad could 84 minutes be?
Turns out that not only was this movie about absolutely nothing, it was one of those motion sickness ones where the camera is constantly shaking and flipping. Ten minutes in, I start to get nauseous. Wow, I’ll be a total spaz if I tell him, I thought, so I tried to talk my stomach into claming down. No luck. Twenty minutes in, the queasy feeling is tenfold and my eyes were squeezed shut because the blood/gore that was added to the shaking camera, elevating my hurl-factor to the next level.
“Umm, Shawn – this movie is trash. And the crazy panning is making me seriously nauseous. I think I wanna leave,” I whispered, lifting my heavy head from his shoulder.
“What? Really?” He looked at me quizzically. “You’ll be okay – let’s stay a few more minutes and see if you feel better.”
I felt like an ass at this point, but a really sick ass. Ten minutes rolled by and I couldn’t take it anymore. I looked at my phone to check the time. No way I was sitting through another 45 minutes of that. So I turned back to Shawn.
“Shawn, I’m really sorry but I’m not staying. I feel so sick. I need air. You can stay if you want.”
“Are you meeting up with someone else or something?” He smirked.
I got up and walked out, and he followed me.
“I’m just kidding, I’m sorry Rajul – I’m just messing with you.” He put his arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. “Seriously, my bad. I didn’t really think you were sick, I just thought you hated the movie.”
I wasn’t amused. He apologized, told me to feel better and walked me to my car. I deeply inhaled the crisp air and my nausea evaporated into disbelief. Did this fool really not even offer to get me water when I expressed my desire to puke? Did he really not get up and leave with me willingly the first two times I asked? I speed dialed my best male friend, Esco, on the way home and checked with him to make sure I wasn’t overreacting.
“No, you’re not overreacting at all. What a selfish bastard! I would have at least offered to go get my date a damn ginger ale or something. Was the movie really that good that he couldn’t pull himself away?” Esco was appalled, so I began to get heated as well.
“You know what you need to do, Rajul. He’s gotta get the boot,” he said.
I concurred. Sure he’s biased and takes my side regardless, but still. I called Shawn and told him “I don’t think we should see each other anymore. I don’t like the way you reacted to me tonight and it just reflects upon your personality. I don’t think you have what I’m looking for right now.”
It felt so good. Winning the Superbowl type of good. I love the fact that I can constructively confront someone. Avoiding phone calls is such a coward move. He fought me on it for a minute or two and then gave in. It was a brief, mature conversation for the most part.
So another one bites the dust. The up side? I realized I’m not the type of woman to settle. And if that’s not enough to put a little switch in my strut, I don’t know what is.