Some days, you just like the way your dress fits, or the way your hair is laying. Some days, you just feel 100% comfortable in your own skin. These days are few and far between for me, especially during bathing suit season, but today is one of those days. Maybe it is the fact that a cute boy from Tinder asked me out on a date. Maybe it is how completely comfortable I am in my new job, and that happiness is spilling over. Maybe it is the fact that I am feeling so blessed by the amazing friends I have surrounded myself with. Friends that believe in judgement-free, unconditional support.
More likely than not it is the cute boy. Let’s call him Mr. South America, since he spends half his time there for work. He is cute, taller than me when I wear heels, and constantly tells me how pretty I am. I think most men underestimate the power of a compliment as simple as telling a girl you think she is pretty or beautiful. “God, you're gorgeous” at random will make a girl melt, at least this girl. Mr. South America and I met for late drinks and the chemistry was there immediately. He made me laugh, so basically he found the two ways to melt my ever hardening heart, appeal to my vanity and my sense of humor. I broke my rule and let him kiss me in the bar, and stay the night on a first date. Our sleepover was tame, clothed, and limited to making out and cuddling. He only got the invite because we drank too much for him to drive home. He wants to see me again when he gets back from South America in 2 weeks, and that excites me.
I need it, a good date, a guy that actually wants to spend time with me, someone that makes it easier to love myself. The creeps, users, and heartbreakers have been in full force lately. There is the Facebook Messenger, who, after not seeing me for over a year, thinks I will just invite him over to have sex. Which is even worse than the Saturday Morning Texter. I am not 22 anymore. I want more than a booty call. It isn’t that I want more from either of them, just in general, I want more than that. I don’t want a boy that makes me feel like the only thing I am good for is my ass or my nice rack. Yes, maybe it is my own fault that one of them thinks his messages are ok. Over the years when the loneliness is all consuming and the text arrives, the need to be touched overcomes my need for something more. I have even been the instigator, sending a text or two of my own. I have let it go on for so long, probably because once upon a time, I had feelings for him. Once upon a time, I thought he and I could have had something real.
The worst is Mr. Martini, who definitely deserves a martini thrown in his face. I don’t begrudge him for meeting someone else that he is “head over heels for,” but I do begrudge him telling me in a text message. I loathe him for acting interested, when he never really was. I wish I could have back the hours of texting about movies, tv, and everything else we have in common. It isn’t that he broke my heart, but more that he reminded me that I am too often the girl before “THE Girl.”
I don’t know that things with Mr. South America are going to work out. But I do know that he has already treated me with more respect than the above listed three. Instead of feeding on my insecurities, he reminds me of my beauty. I don’t need a boy telling me I am pretty to know I am pretty, but it sure helps to not have one pointing out your flaws. My life is great, and today I am appreciating the good. As frustrated as I get with all the boy drama, I know that its is the assholes, creeps, and heartbreakers that help me know when something is truly good.
