“Would you like another one?”

I look up and into the eyes of a pretty brown haired waitress. I’ve watched her over the past 40 minutes dancing through the tables of The Farm & Fisherman. She’s been equally lovely and accommodating to every table. She’s kept a watchful eye but this is the first time she’s stopped back at my table in the time I’ve been there. But, for good reason. The seat across from me is still tucked under the table and the menu laying on the place setting.

Actual Stood Up Meal

I order another drink and the goat tacos (get them next you're there, they’re bangin’). I grab my phone to text my sister, “It’s official, I’ve been stood up.”

I was never a big dater in high school or college, always a serial monogamist. Now in my late 30’s I’m, really for the first time, finding out what it’s like to date. I’ve had some great dates. Dates that were intoxicating, men who surprised me with how much we had in common and how easily the conversation flowed. I’ve had some bad dates, right down to the “Oh God, please let him finish his food quickly so I can go”. But I had yet to be stood up.

On our second date, that HE asked for. Not that I’m bitter….or writing a blog about it.

As I shoveled goat meat and pita into my face hole I tried to pinpoint the feeling that was coming up. Sad, yes. My feelings were hurt.  However, even though we had fun on our first date, I already knew that he and I weren’t a great match, so in the end, no hard feelings there.

Angry - maybe? And because everything comes back to fucking yoga, I scanned my body for my triggers. Nope, not there. Ok, it’s not anger….what is it then……?  

I let my body tiggers go and concentrated on the repeating thoughts in my head and like that, I had it. Pure, God Damn Annoyance. And there were 3, THREE, things that I was annoyed about:

 

#1 - I Washed My Hair.

 

Not a big deal to men, but try having a couple feet of it. Only two hours before, I got out of the shower, stood in front of my mirror, towel wrapped around my head and looked myself in the eye.   Every women with long hair knows this moment, it’s like preparing for war.

I knew I had a battle on my hands, the yoga classes I had participated in earlier had left landmines in my hair that were going to take special artillery to get though. I looked down at the three brushes and J&J Baby detangler lined up on my counter. They had gotten me though before, I hadn’t lost faith in their abilities now.  I look back up and give myself the nod.

With a flourish I take the towel off my head and instead of my amber and chocolate tresses cascading down my back like a Pantene commercial, they basically stay in the shape of the towel in one giant knot on the top of my head. I grab the first brush, a chunk of hair and like the first charge in a Game of Thrones campaign I go in with a gusto and lust for Glory!!  

After some time has passed my arms are limp and exhausted. I gaze through strands of hair into the mirror. I see a creature resembling Cousin It staring back at me. I’ve won this battle.

If combing is the battle, blow drying is like walking though the field and picking off the last of the opposing survivors. I think I got all the knots out as twirl my hair around the round brush. When suddenly, my hair has become ensnared! The boar bristles are trying to become one with my hair! There’s a small conflict as I basically RIIIIIP the round brush out of my hair. Some of my men have defected to the other side. I look down at the brush and see the offending knot and a few stray hairs clinging to their new leader. I sigh, such is war…

 

#2 - I Got Dressed Up

 

Both my places of employment are pretty casual. Jeans, yoga cloths, ponytails and buns pretty much sums up my daily aesthetic. To get dressed up is fun and unusual for me.  There are many things to consider as one dresses for a date. Examples:

Comfort vs Looking Good: I know there is a standard that women suck it up for fashion and sometimes I do. However I don’t want to be so concerned with choosing the hospital for my emergency pinky toe removal that I can’t hold a conversation.

Cute vs Sexy: There’s a strength in both, but I gotta choose. Women who can pull off both at the same time amaze me. I’ll watch them with the same awe and wonder as if a Bengal Tiger was walking in front of me.

Leg/Boobage Exposure:  How much boobage is too much? Too much skin might send a more forward message. Do I want to be forward? I don’t think I want to be that forward this time... (no judgement to those who do, ain't no shame in your game ladies)

Finding a balance that fits my mood for the evening took at minimum of three outfit changes. Including the all important Undie choice. Cotton, lacy, thong…. I keep trying thongs waiting for the sexy feeling I’ve been told would come once I got use to them. All I’ve gotten from them is the constant thought: “There’s a piece of string up my ass….I hope it doesn't turn into front wedg...Oh, wait...there it goes...”

Once hair and outfit have been completed there's make up. I’m not the greatest at putting it on, but I Loooooove it. I own a ridiculous amount (and I NEED it all!) which I don’t get to play with very often. It’s a little joy in my life. Something that makes me feel feminine and pretty. I like when I feel pretty and a man confirms it by telling me. It’s completely ego driven, I know.  But that feeling when my cheeks get warm and I have to look away for a second is a chemical release like no other.

 

#3 - He Couldn't Even Send a Text To Cancel

 

Now I don't know what happened, maybe something did. But my gut says he just decided he didn’t like me and blew off the date. Being that I’m Adult-ish, I’m OK with the fact that not everyone is going to like me. Hell, I’ve set up dates and cancelled.  Some out of circumstance but others out of realizing I don’t have any interest and don't want to take the aforementioned time to make myself presentable. That’s my truth.

Canceling on someone always sucks. Dates, friends, meetings. There’s an expectation and you’re not living up to your end.  For a moment in time you have be a Dick and no one wants to be a Dick. Even for a two minute phone call or a 5 word text (Sorry, can’t make it tonight) that would have resulted in me saying “Huh, that sucks” followed by pizza and beer with my dog.

Admitting these kinds of truths to yourself can be difficult. I know I push them down, mask them with drinking, or working out too much. But saying it, outloud, getting it out,  shortens my time on the Dick-o-meter and I can get on with life. So...

 

My name is Sarah and I’m a Dick, that’s my truth…...

and Chris, so are you.

 

 

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