Call Me Picky

 

My friends call me picky, and maybe they’re right.  It’s entirely possible I’ve lost the ability to settle for anything less than exactly what I want.  I may be anxious, and I may get lonely at times, but I’m not built for settling.

 

After 2 weeks of tindering back and forth, I met the sheriff last night.  Again I was reminded why online meetings just don’t seem to work for me.   First, he didn’t look like he did in the pictures.  He wasn’t ugly, but I didn’t find him attractive either.  I showed up in a short plaid skirt with knee high black leather boots, and a black blouse with a deep V neck line.  My hair was straightened; my makeup carefully applied, and I had a hint of perfume dabbed on the inside of my wrists.  I dressed to impress — it was a first date after all.

HE showed up in a pair of ill-fitted jeans and a car t-shirt.  I get that some men don’t care about their sense of style, but it is something I notice.  I find a man who can dress himself up to be extremely sexy.  Clothing aside, I didn’t find our conversation to be overly stimulating either.  He was nice, but he was boring.  He swore a lot, and made constant sexual inuendos.  Don’t get me wrong, I am guilty of the odd witty sexual inuendo, but I don’t base my conversation around them.    Basically the date was mediocre.  He was a decent enough guy, and I’m sure for someone else he will make a great partner.  Just not for me.

 

Picky?  Sure, if it needs to have a name, call me picky.  I’ve lived through a divorce, a stalker, and an abuser.  I think I’ve earned the right to be picky.  Loneliness can be hard, but being with the wrong person is even harder.