He didn't tell me I was pretty

My dating life defines sporadism.

It seems there will be a famine spanning for what feels like an unbearable length of time and then overnight, like Manna from Heaven, men, men everywhere!

I daresay the Dating Gods have smiled on me as of late.
Actually.
They've been smirking at me.
And yes, there is indeed a difference.

My dates have not been excessively bad or excessively good.
Rather, amusing.
And certainly excellent fodder for my blog.
So kudos to that.

Earlier this week I dined with Mr. Fabulous.
Good on paper, he came highly recommended, with great credentials, older, handsome, rich.  I swear we were taking part in a beer commercial- everyone was drawn to him, he talked with such charming ease that conversation flowed through the night and when he'd finish a story he'd flash a grin and a chime would sound as a flash of light glinted off his front canine.

Ok, so maybe I'm making that last part up.

He oozed charm and worldly sophistication.  I was out with a MAN.  Not like the mere boys of my past.  And I really did have an enjoyable evening.  It was.....nice.

But there was no Zsa Zsa Zsu.  No Sparkle.  No, Wow when he looks into my eyes it's like I'm the only girl in the room.  I wasn't anticipating a good night kiss nor was there any heat between us when he hugged me goodbye.  I had felt a mere accessory as if I could have been any girl, not the girl.  I may be old fashioned but I want my date to make me feel pretty.  And Mr. Fabulous didn't.

He didn't even say I looked pretty.
No compliments.
Nothing.

Boys, my darling, beautiful men, do you have any idea how much time we spend primping ourselves for your enjoyment?  I mean, I meticulously chose an understated sexy dress, modest yet form fitting, my hair had just enough body to be bold but not over the top and my makeup?  Well, let's just say if it had been my cosmetics interview I certainly would have gotten the job.


I know I'm beautiful.
I do not NEED men to tell me I'm so very pretty.
But it seems like one of those things that should just be instinctive.
Does it not?
They pay for my wine, they hold open the door, they tell me I look Oh so lovely in that dress.


Do I need to let my dates borrow my Cary Grant movies?  I mean.  Seriously.

This is not the first time this has happened.


Maybe he was playing it cool, Guy in the Beanie said.


Guy in the Beanie is stupid handsome, by the bye, and seriously needs to makeout with me.  But I digress.


Maybe that was his angle, you know, to not seem too interested and just be aloof, he continued.

I artfully raised my left eyebrow characteristic of my confrontational nature and just shook my head.
No, I argued.  Not acceptable.  Do you know how much time I spent getting beautiful for him?  He is not going to get to touch any of this if he doesn't first make me feel appreciated.

Guy in the Beanie's eyes met mine and he just flashed a sinful smile.
Now with a mug like his, he can touch it all whenever he likes.
His eyes complimented the hell out of me.

And those dates are the only ones worth having.

Say it with words, say it with looks.
But if you don't see the beautiful I see?
I'll drink this sweet wine on my own.