Spiders vs Dating

You know those sultry, mysterious women who wear red dresses and black stilettos and pouty lipstick? And they lure men in with their wit and charm, kiss them seductively, then leave with grace and dignity?

I am not one of those women.

I may be fun. I may be flirtatious. I may be cute (and I own some really cute shoes.) I may be able to lure a man in… but the departure is never very smooth.

It’s no secret that I hate dating. Hate it. I love the flirting. I love meeting new people. But there’s little I dread more than that awkward, forced hour or so of conversation on first dates, or the weird “now what?” feeling when you meet someone you’re drawn to and it’s time to leave. I think I rank dating only slightly above spiders. And I really loathe spiders.

Last night, for example, I spent the evening flirting with an 80s cover band’s guitarist. (Being an 80s-cover-band guitarist makes him pretty damn attractive to begin with, but he was also one of the cutest men I’ve seen in a long time.) I wasn’t crawling on the dance floor with the groupies (I don’t do competition for men… they’re simply not worth it), but I could hold my own in a conversation about Zelda (don’t ask). And he showered me with t-shirts and free giveaways, and then he kissed me goodbye.

And then I said, “Alrite, gotta go” and ran away.

Seriously. I need to learn how to make a smooth exit.