Just got home from a surreal (or, more surreal than usual) evening at the watering hole.
When I got there, there was only one seat at the bar. Strange item number one. (I’m told it was payday and pension day).
So, I took that seat. Please note it was next to the “head seat.” Next to the best seat. The seat next to where the most regular of regulars sit.
And when Neil the Irishman left an hour or so later, Rodney the railroad man told me to slide on over and take the good seat. Strange item number two.
So, I did. I’m no fool.
Guess I’ve arrived. Little ol’ me was sitting where the old (as in longevity, not age) guys sit.
Later, Mike the biker came in, and he cheerfully sat beside me, and Rodney, Mike and I bull-shitted for the better part of three hours. I told all sorts of saucy stories about myself, and the boys traded stories in turn. They also said that they’d seen my tattoos, and knew how tough I was. Really, I should skip buying a scooter and buy a bike.
They also said they could make me cry, if they really, really wanted to. I laughed.
It was a good night, even if Wade the delivery guy completely ignored me (we usually have a really feisty discussion about bluegrass). Strange item number three.
After some chicken fingers and loads of good insults, I found out that Rodney the railroad guy did not talk trash about me. The freaky guy is indeed a freak, and apparently I am glad that he didn’t email. Good to know. I would hate to think that my charms have diminished over the winter. Even though the firm lecture I have drafted has been wasted. (Rodney tells me that dipshit walked out of the pub saying "I'm never talking to her again." Suddenly, the fact that dipshit ignored me three weeks ago makes sense.).
So, some time later, I’ve ordered my last pint. I’ve paid my tab, and I’ve planned which bus to catch. A very, very handsome man sits down. Says “hello gentleman… and, girl!” And leers. Sort of. We all say hello, and the general bull-shitting continues… My bus is coming, so I wander over to say goodnight to Wade. I walk by Mike and Rodney, and kiss each of them on the cheek.
Very handsome man I don’t know says “Hey, where’s my kiss? “
I say, “I don’t know you well enough to kiss you. But, I would have sex with you.”
And I waltz out the door. With a certain swing in my step. If you know what I mean, and I think you do.
I paused for a moment, in the lobby, before I stepped outside of the building. Just to hear the gales of laughter and, over it all, I hear very handsome man say “What?!?”
And this brings me to the thoughts rolling around in my head tonight.
I’ve made a decision this winter, a decision that I haven’t talked about much. Just to a couple of you, really.
I’m done with dating.
I’m done with that stupid (but fun, I admit) game of putting myself on display, hoping someone will notice me.
I’m done with going after someone I like, and hoping they like me back.
I’m done with swallowing my own opinions just because some stupid person with a penis will be hurt if I say what I really mean. Or back-pedalling when the person I am speaking to is too dim to have and interesting and spirited debate about current issues.
It’s clear that if that is the sort of man I choose, I’ve been choosing the wrong man, and whose fault is that? Mine.
I’ve learned, over the last seven years or so, I do not need a man by my side. Oh, yes, I have learned that, and I’ve loved every minute of it (well, after the first six months I’ve loved it). And even more clearly, I’ve learned that I don’t really like how I behave when I have a man by my side. Therefore I will do without.
“If this is it for me baby, that’s just fine, I'm not looking any more”
But I'm still going to flirt. And have one-night stands, if the opportunity presents itself. Just sayin'.