You read them all the time, “10 Things You Need To Realize In Your 20s Before You Get Married,” or “Be Single Until You Find Someone Who Treats You Like This,” and a million other (bullshit) open letters as to why you are single. I’m as guilty as OJ on caving to the click bait that’s on my newsfeed as well. Ten times out of ten, I am not reading your short novel on what side of the political shit storm you’re on, Carol, but if you post a nice little thought piece on romanticism, I’m in. For someone who has been single for nearly three years, and also as a writer, I find some comfort in reading other people’s opinions and feelings on what it takes to be in a successful relationship these days. Mostly because I don’t have a damn clue, personally. And also because reading these makes me feel like I’m not the only loveless, sorry excuse for a powerful, independent female out there. We should start a Facebook group, honestly.
While I’m skimming through these fiction love pieces, I find myself having one of three reactions: an eye rolls, a nod in agreement, or a full-blown psychotic meltdown, but there had never been one article in particular that I related to 100% until I stumbled across that one, glimmering beacon of hope that would help me pinpoint the chaos in my dating life: “You Are Undateable.”
Let me stop here for a second and tell you, I never actually read the article, because I didn’t have to. The title alone acquired all three of the above reactions at once, because I realized that it might actually be true. Am I undateable? And if so, why? I certainly never thought of myself as undateable because, let’s face it, I’m the greatest ever, but if I was so certain of how great I was, then why weren’t the boys I’m dating convinced of it either?
I started my investigation in the holy grail of flirtation, date planning, and ghosting; my texts. And what do you know? My last conversation, taking place last night at 10:45 pm, was with a Tinder swipe, Matt. Matt was seemingly normal with great hair, and straight teeth. What else could a girl ask for? He sent me a text that read:
“But for real, I’m going to have my own place. Do you wanna really go on a date, somewhere nice, where I could really just talk to you, and tell you how beautiful and dope I think you are.”
We’ll give this text a 7/10. A little corny, but boys don’t have any damn clue, so at least he tried. And instead of being excited, nice, and willing to see where this love interest could lead, I respond with:
“Lol. Will there be free drinks?”
Lol… will there be… free drinks? Granted, that really is my only genuine concern, but did I have to TELL him that? My gut fell out of my ass as the word flashed in my head in neon lights “undateable. Undateable. UNDATEABLE.”
I tried not to get too ahead of myself. It was only one person and Matt doesn’t have a lot going for him, so maybe I was looking out for myself in the long run. Before I jumped to conclusions, I needed more proof, another undeniably ridiculous view on dating to make me believe I was truly undatable. Another scroll through my texts to my girl Rachel, who asked me how my date with Ben was. We went to a baseball game, btw, SPORTS!
“It was good!” Okay, we might be in the clear here. “He was super nice, and funny, but I think he might be gay.”
Yes, because every man who is nice and funny has to be gay? UN-FUCKING-DATEABLE. Am I really this judgmental? Should I seal my fate and join the Westboro Baptist Church now? Now having a full blown panic attack, I remind myself of the breathing techniques my therapist taught me and stepped back from the psychological ledge I was about to dive off of head first into EHarmony.
“Why!!!” Asked Rachel, the only levelheaded voice I now have.
“Umm, he’s just a little eccentric, I don’t know. It was okay at first. Until he got WAY too into the hot dog races.”
And then, the flashback, of Ben standing up, screaming at the top of his lungs when ketchup pushed mustard down and onion somehow managed to waddle its way to the top of the pack. He gave high fives to the people around him, who were complete strangers, by the way. All over full grown adults running around in hot dog outfits. SPORTS! So yeah, I think my intuition on him being gay, might have a little bit of credibility to it.
So what did I learn? I’m not undateable. I’m just getting the fuck off Tinder..
Image via Shutterstock
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