The old saying often goes that, in relationships, timing is everything.
Right man, wrong time.
In another lifetime.
If only I’d met him when I was single.
But I think it’s more than that. More than simply meeting someone when you’re open to the possibility of love. It’s also a case of not fucking it up. See, I’ve met plenty of eligible guys during my (many) single years. Nice, charming, relatively funny and relatively hair-free guys. But often it’s that final moment, the leap of faith, the take off – where I fail in flying colours.
Courtship is easy. Flirting is second nature to most humans that haven’t lived under a rock or been home schooled. However making something out of nothing is the hardest. So many times I’ve been on the cusp of a relationship only to falter. I’m not sure whether it’s the fear of commitment, or thinking (often mistakenly) that something better is just around the corner. Whatever my problem; I’m a serial dater, which is only a couple of rungs up the ladder from a serial killer. I know plenty of girls that are always in a relationship, and jump straight from one long term monogamous partnership to the next. I envy that. I can’t fall in like that easy.
Maybe I’m fussy, although I prefer the term discerning. It often feels, as Haim so eloquently sing, right. There is no fault that I can put my finger on. Doesn’t matter: ill slink away from a potential relationship faster than Miley Cirus’ dignity. Maybe I’ll be cursed with being on the brink of something awesome, and never truly realising the potential.
Always keep your heart locked tight
Don’t let your mind retire
For now, I’ll be OK anyway.
The AB x
I actually think Alex Turner penned this song by hacking into my phone records. You see, I’ve been the unfortunate victim of drunk booty call dialling twice in the last 8 days. From the same repeat offender.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m no prude. If you’ve established the type of relationship where calling each other after 9 Bacardi Breezers in Kings Cross is acceptable, then by all means call away. Hell, I’ve been known to shoot off a cheeky SMS after the socially acceptable cut off of 11 pm enquiring as to the whereabouts of a certain gentleman. But when I do so, it’s always safe in the knowledge that the sentiment will be returned. Or they are also out. And also annihilated.
I don’t, however, send that message out into the universe without the slightest indication as to whether the booty call will be favourably answered. Its called class. This is where my recent booty caller went so awry. Having known him for only a few short weeks, we had yet to establish that kind of repartee. Sure, the witty banter existed and yes, not going to deny there had been some flirting, but he was being totes inapprop when he called at 11:23 pm last Friday and asked whether I would like him to come over and snuggle. About as subtle as a brick to the face. I politely declined.
That didn’t stop him again, a week later, dialling my number at midnight, then 1 am, before finally sending a cryptic text message as follows:
Who the fuck are you? I have a girlfriend
Needless to say I didn’t feel the need to respond. However I did feel the need to confront him about it. So this evening, I ran into him in the city, and asked whether he had enjoyed his Friday night. He blushed, so my strategy was working. I then asked if his girlfriend had got her hands on his phone during the course of the night. He point blank, black and blue, hand on the bible swore he didn’t have a girlfriend. Little did he know I’m a black belt in shit sniffing so I was onto him.
With the flick of my hair and a turn on my heel, I cheerfully suggested that maybe he should put a a pin lock on his phone.
Or invent an app that breath tests you for being an arsehole before you dial my number.
Either way, don’t think I’ll be hearing from that sly dog again in a hurry. Or at least after midnight.
I don’t mean to flirt with men I’m not interested in. It’s just sometimes easier than starting a friendship with them. See, friendships take time, nurturing, mutual affection and trust. I rarely find that with men these days. Truth be told most of them are slightly abhorrent to me, being so cynical and all. Which is why friendships are tossed in the too hard basket. Which isn’t to say I don’t foster them at all. I have some long running friendships with lovely men, and often their partners too.
Which leads me to why its easier to have a flirty relationship with a man than a friendship. It’s meaningless, to you at least. I have been flirting with a work colleague lately. He is attractive, single so it’s hardly a crime. I have no intention of ever going there (based mainly on my newly formed don’t-shit-where-you-eat policy) but he doesn’t know that.
In fact, I think he thinks he’s in with a fighting chance. And I’m not really too bothered to change his mind. From where I sit, it is easier if he fancies me. Interactions will be smoother, I’ll illicit the desired response from him in the workplace, and it’s socially acceptable for us to engage in flirty banter in public given our age, genders’ and availability. I don’t want any more male friends, I’m just a girls’ girl.
Does this make me a flirt, a dick tease? I don’t really give a shit. It’s hard enough to be a woman in a professional capacity, whatever the industry, so using all the tools in your arsenal is advisable. Preferable even.
Once he works out that I’m good for nothing more than some occasional witty repartee, he’ll back off. And maybe once the dust has settles, if he’s proven worthy I might just strike up a real friendship with him. If he’s unlucky.