The girl who went searching for a little attention and wound up with a new admirer

I was dumbstruck.

Banging my head on the coffee table, mouth agape, utterly flabbergasted.
Only a man could cause such stupefaction.
And this particular man I was totally crushing on.

Mr. Unlovable and I had been whiling away the hours together for weeks.
It was the kind of relationship neither one of us attempted to label.
Somewhere between Friends With Benefits and Dating.

Initially I was thrilled with such a casual state of uncertainty.
No labels. No expectations. No smothering. No headaches.
But of course things never remain so stagnant for very long.
And eventually I realized I had absolutely no idea what he wanted from me.
Or what I even wanted from him.

Apparently I did need a label.

The problem surfaced when we genuinely started to click.
Indifference becomes quite forced when you actually start to give a shit.
What can I say, I'm so damn lovable.

So just around the time I felt like we were vibing and really might dig each other, and I might actually be ready to go all the way, he flipped the switch.
And brought out the Douchebag pants.

Thud. Thud. Thud.
I nearly cracked the coffee table with my head.

Douchebag pants rocked my love life runways last fall.
And I had very little tolerance to try and make that fashion fiasco work again.

Cue exit music. Begin audience applause. Lower neon flashing sign, "NEXT!"

So uncertain of which Jekyll or Hyde I had actually been dating. Kissing. Illin. Err... Hangin with....
Oh hell. Whatever the fuck we were doing.
I made plans to meet up with my girl and her friends including the kid who'd had his eye on me for months.
You know the kind, the guy who has the worst luck and the worst timing when it comes to girls and finds someone he likes whose unavailable so he's aggressive when he shouldn't be and not around when she's finally single.
The poor bastard.

So we went to hear some jazz and the band was swell.
My date however was unfathomably quiet.
I dig dudes that are shy but there's a fine line between soft spoken and mute.

So after an hour or so and a couple of stiff drinks I bid my adieu's and closed out my tab.
"Heeeyy! Next song they play, let's dance, you and me!" some guy shouted at me from the other side of the bar.
Only I couldn't quite hear what he said so it sounded more like HEY. NEXT. DANCE. YOU. ME.
You crazy. Me Jane.
I laughed, genuinely amused, and waved goodbye.

I left the bar and got maybe twenty feet from the door when all of a sudden my suitor was tapping me on the shoulder.
"Wait. I'm sorry. I just can't let you leave without getting to talk to you. I've been watching you all night and I just had to tell you, you've really got it goin' on."

This is the part where those who know me will appreciate what happened next.
Because there is a part of me that is a genuine hopeless romantic and loves those cheesy romantic comedies and would love to have a guy dance with me in the middle of the street and sing a song softly in my ear while under the stars.
But that was also more me when I was 19.
There is another, possibly larger, part of me who no longer trusts such saccharine tripe.
Which is why I artfully raised one eyebrow and replied, 'Bullshit.'

"No. I'm serious," he quickly replied.
"You came in by yourself, right? And I saw you sitting there alone and then you were looking at your phone so I thought, Oh she is waiting for her boyfriend or her husband. So I came by and walked past you and I noticed that ring on your finger."
I looked down at my jewelry and shook my head.
Only a man from Jamaica would give a damn there's a diamond ruby ring on my ring finger.

"Come back inside, have a drink with me."
'I can't have a drink with you! I just left a date with another guy. I think that'd be pretty rude to have a drink with someone else at the same bar.'

It also would make me a baller but for the moment I was remaining a lady.

So he pressed and pleaded and convinced me to walk and talk with him "just for fifteen minutes."
We end up stumbling upon some benches a few blocks north and conversationally he was refreshingly charming.
He asked me questions about myself and spoke openly about his own story.
"Things are different in Jamaica. There, when we see something we want, we go after it."
'Clearly. I noticed that.'
An overwhelming contrast to my usual We can't hang out cuz I might FEEL something pattern of emotionally stinted boys.

He questioned my continuous laughter and I didn't quite know how to tell him I was waiting for the orchestra to begin playing and the rest of the cast to enter for the big dance number in the movie I was clearly starring in.

But instead, I told him I was ready to walk back and he tried offering me his number.
'What? I don't want your number. I'm not contacting you.'
"Well I know I'm interested in you but how do I know you're interested in me?" he dishes back.
'You have been so charming and wonderful this evening, why would you go and blow it?'
Then he was the one laughing.
'I don't chase men. If you're interested YOU can call.'

So he quickly got out his phone to take my digits and hugged me goodbye.
Then he leaned in and with a swiftness like Batman stole a quick kiss.

I'm fairly certain my jaw dropped open.

"I will text you in the morning and we can do something tomorrow."
I nodded, not believing him in the slightest and drove home just as mystified as I'd felt over Mr. Unlovable.
I was like Keri Russell in that scene from Waitress when she has this confused look on her face for minutes until finally it gives way to a giant grin.

I woke up and he'd texted me.
He called later too.

I literally went out seeking a little male validation, seeking out some new distraction.
And it chased me down the street.

If my life really were a movie, I couldn't have written it better myself.



Starts around 2:30