It will come as a shock to absolutely no one that I have a deep fear of commitment. As soon as pesky feelings of affection come into play, I start getting squirrely. Thoughts of, "I like him and we should see where this goes," quickly transform into, "He's texting me again to ask how I'm doing? Stop smothering me!"
And so my regularly scheduled trip to Crazy Town was continuing apace on the night of my second date with the Math Unicorn. I wasn't in full-blown anxiety mode, but I was keeping a wary eye out for signs that he might suddenly leap up and propose marriage and seven children.
As it happened, he was late. This caused my vanity to war with my sense of relief that he might not be that into me. Thoughts raced through my head. Was this a strategy to get my attention, or some sort of power play? If so, I was intrigued. Had I come across someone who also secretly thought of romantic relationships as a kind of sudden death match that either ended in love or operatic tragedy? I would give him twenty minutes and then leave.
He showed up ten minutes late, sidling delicately into the alehouse looking nothing like a romantic mastermind. I wondered if his bones were hollow.
Things progressed well from there. We talked about David Bowie and bluegrass influences in modern rock--your usual pretentious stuff. After a while, he asked if I wanted to go somewhere else for something to eat. I cautiously agreed, thinking that I could probably take him in a fight if I had to. Still, when I got into his car I watched him like a hawk just in case he was going to take out a scalpel and try to harvest my organs; the joke would have been on him anyway--at this point, I'm sure my lungs and liver would be virtually worthless on the black market!
In any case, I needn't have worried. It turned out that the Math Unicorn was a very polite man. Too polite. We went to like three different places, but because it was near 10:00 they were all getting ready to close. I would have gone in, enjoyed my meal, and left a good tip. But I stayed quiet. You see, I like men who show me that they aren't afraid to go for what they want, be it Thai food or my affection. I'm high-maintenance, I take a lot of wrangling, and I need someone who won't let me run circles around him. So this became a little unexpected test and I was watching carefully.
He hemmed and hawed and finally we ended up at a little pizza place that catered to wannabe hipsters. There was no one else there except a group of self-consciously loud teenagers and a very drunk couple who couldn't stop pawing at each other. After we placed our order we sat down and resumed chatting. The drunk girl at the next table told us she liked us very much and I complimented her grandma jewelry. It took 45 minutes for two slices of pizza to get to us.
45 minutes of hell.
Anyone who's gone shopping with me knows that when I'm faced with bad customer service, I'm polite right up to the point where I snap and then practically declare a blood feud. I start quoting Genghis Khan and my eyes probably turn red as I levitate and call down curses on whatever poor employee is responsible for the bad service. But, being on a date, I had to sit there and smile and keep it all in. Who's annoyed by this abysmal service? Not me!
The Math Unicorn took a different approach. Thirty minutes in, he gave a little sigh and said, "I'm trying not to be annoyed. This sure is taking a long time." And that was it. I wanted to yell, "Get annoyed! We should demand a free meal!" But no, like a lady I went outside and called my girlfriends to talk it out.
Eventually, the pizza came. It was good. Then the Math Unicorn and I left, and he drove me back to my car. We shared an awkward hug. I went home.
A few days later, he asked me out again. I never replied. A few days later, when I was hashing this all out with my therapist, she exclaimed, "That was a horrible thing to do!"
I know, Therapist. I know.
But I feel like every time I go out or have extensive talks either online or in text with people, I'm learning things about how I'm dysfunctional--or alternately, what parts of my personality are awesome. It gives me something to work on. And in the relatively low-stakes world of online dating, I hope that the men I leave in my crazy wake are aware, even in some small way, that they were just out with a woman who isn't quite there yet, but is trying.
I'm a walking, talking case of, "It's not you, it's me."
In case this ending leaves you with sad face, don't worry. I'm still having a good time!
