I have been seeing "Nice Guy" for only a couple weeks. He actually asked me out while I was working as a server. There may have been a whipped cream incident, and I might have made fun of the fact that he has no taste in beer, but for some reason he still felt compelled to ask me out. So, of course, I pull a typical babe move and say, why the hell not? The worst that could happen is that he turns out to be a weirdo and I get a free meal out of it.
We had a whirlwind first three dates, which included pizza, beer and watching the game, learning how to trapeze, and getting drunk at the Oak Room and climbing on statues on Comm Ave. (that's legal, right?). Nice Guy is super intelligent, has a good head on his shoulders, a great job, and doesn't mind being a little spontaneous with me. The problem: I'm pretty sure I can bench press more than this guy, and attractive isn't really the word I would use to describe him... For the love of sweet baby Jesus, can't there just be a hot hunk of lovin' who is exactly like this guy? As far as I'm concerned, this breed of man is harder to find than a pair of Isabel Marant sneakers.
So, last night we were hanging out in his apartment. After a bottle of Trimbach Gewurztraminer and an entire box of Mallomars, we got to kissing. And in between smooches he was trying to convince me to spend the night. (All I have done is kiss this guy, primarily because I can't get myself over the fact that I just don't find him good looking in the least.) After subtly telling him that I should probably go home, he pulled back and dropped a one-liner on me that I was not prepared for: "Do you find me physically attractive?". Oh shit, now what? This is when the "too nice" and "expensive taste" problems kick in...
If I tell Nice Guy I don't think he is attractive, I'm going to crush the guy and what little ego he has. And, on top of that, I don't remember the last time I casually drank a great bottle of wine with a cheese assortment from Formaggio Kitchen on a Tuesday night.
"Of course I think you are," I say. But, inside my head all I can hear is "This guy just got really obnoxiously needy. Who asks if you are phsyically attracted to them? Doesn't he like me enough not to annoy me with these awful questions? Hashtag, single girl problems!"
Luckily, that one little sentence put all of his doubts at bay and he reluctantly drove me home. As I walked through the front door and up the stairs to my Southie apartment, all I could do was kick myself. This is the epitome of a dating "pickle". I have yet to find an Emily Post appropriate way to get out of a situation like this, and usually the way I end up dealing with it results in a lot of unanswered text messages and phone calls. Do I feel bad? Yes. But should I subject myself to some unwanted smooches for a good meal once a week? Absolutely not. This is where I decide to draw the line between dating and whoring myself out.
And on the positive side, this leaves a little more time for Triathlete and Harvard to prove that they aren't just good looking, but have a killer attitude to boot.
'Til next time,
A Babe In Boston
No comments:
Post a Comment