Have you ever noticed that when you're looking for someone to date, nobody is around, but the minute you take yourself off the market, it's as if somebody opened the floodgates of eligible (well, that's debatable) men? What's that all about?
Last week I was at a concert with my friend Jodie, enjoying the gorgeous 70 degree night we were having and sipping on some wine, when all of a sudden I get a text that asked, "Where are you sitting?" It was from a number that didn't have a name attached to it, so immediately I thought it could be one of two things: 1) Wrong number, but weird coincidence since I was at a concert, or 2) It has to be someone I have dated in the past and then erased their number because I didn't want to be tempted to drunk dial them, and that certain someone had to also be on my Facebook because, otherwise, how would they know I was at the concert?
I was in no mood for a flirtatious back-and-forth with a stranger, so I went straight for my usual blunt tactics and texted back, "I'm sorry, I don't have this number in my phone. Who is this?" His response was, "Our timing was off." Sigh. I knew it immediately. That would be option number two.
Do you guys remember Mr. Epic First Date? He was the subject of the entry, "Time Waits for No (Wo)man, Not Even for A Vixen Like Me." I'll pause for the appropriate reaction of, "Oh yes, right--that dbag. The one who thought you would be happy being the consolation prize." Are we all on the same page now? Okay good. Let's continue...
Before you say it, I know. The story should have stopped there because I shouldn't have entertained the conversation. I mean, why would I? Instead, my curiosity and ego got the best of me. I decided to hear him out for just a bit longer. After the way things had ended, I wouldn't mind hearing a little bit of groveling. I assumed that he must have read the entry about himself since he made the "timing" reference, which is what the entire blog was about (Side note: I was right. I went back to that entry later that night and noticed that he had actually commented on the blog, posing as the appropriately named "Gummy Guy"). In the text exchange he went on and on about how our timing was off and how he had some things he needed to figure out back then, but he has since rid himself of all of the baggage and thinks that we should give it another shot--a clean slate.
Huh? When did I voluntarily sign up to ride the crazy train? I understand that if he continued to read the subsequent entries, he probably thought that I was a glutton for punishment and would have a pretty good chance at getting a second shot, but what he failed to notice is that somewhere along the line, I grew more intolerant of dating mediocre men and started holding my future dates to a higher standard (probably spurned by Tisha's tough love comments). I simply responded, "You are so right! Life is all about timing, and yes, that's probably part of the reason things didn't work out with us the first time around, but now, timing is only part of it. I have been seeing someone, so I'm not interested in pursuing anything else. The other part of it? Well, I quit crazy. Best of luck."
Before writing this entry, I Googled a bit about pheromones and how they affect dating, because I was certain that I would find proof that people in relationships must emit different pheromones than when single. No dice. Maybe I'm a bad Googler? Maybe this is just my luck? But mark my words--the happier I become in my relationship, the more exes, past flings and old baggage will rear their ugly heads. I'm starting to wonder if it's not pheromones at all, and instead, maybe it's a test? Maybe the Universe is testing me to see how much I like this new guy and what I'm willing to turn down for him? Is that too much of a hippy-dippy way of thinking? Who knows? What I do know, though, is that it's going to take a lot more than a man like Mr. Epic First Date and the Universe to knock me off my game. I didn't wade through six months of insane dates just to throw away my chance at a normal and happy relationship the first time an old suitor comes-a-knockin'.