What is it about black heels and blue jeans that turn men into idiots?
I was coming out of a gas station store when this man was getting out of his, very shiny, black Mercedes, and he about fell all over himself to grab the door for me, look at me very directly, and say, “Hello.”
It might as well have been the Joey from Friends, “How you doin’?”
I just said, “Thank you,” and continued walking over to where my friend was pumping gas.
The irony of all this is, were I interested in meeting anyone right now, there’d be no one grabbing doors for me. I’d be stuck, arms full, searching frantically for anyone to help.
Went to Crabby Bill’s out on Indian Rocks Beach tonight. Had the stone crabs. They were fabulous. It’s impossible to be ladylike while eating stone crabs. After a few attempts with that little fork, you just end up eating with your fingers. It’s more fun that way, anyhow.
My friend and I drove back to his place, so I could pick up my car. We were listening to this radio station that plays all these oldies. The Eagles song “Desperado” came on, and when the song got to the part about how “you’d better let somebody love you before it’s too late,” he wagged his finger in my face.
Yeah, I tried that, buddy.
When I got home I ate a Kashi oatmeal chocolate chip cookie smeared with Nutella, drank a beer, and pondered that finger wag.
It’s not that I won’t “let somebody love” me. It’s that you have to find the right person to let love you.
Look. I do get the whole frog kissing thing. I know you have to get out there and do the duty dating. Gotta get out and meet people. Prince Charming isn’t going to come knocking on my door, and, on the off chance he did, I’d probably be in sweat pants, no make-up, with my hair up in a haphazard ponytail and a friend’s child on my hip.
I’m just tired. I’ve got a lot of years of dating experience. Okay, fewer boyfriends than I can count on two hands isn’t a ton of experience, but I’m over it. I’m not ready to throw in the towel. I’m just exhausted from the effort. These black heels are pretty high and the blue jeans are fairly tight. And I’m sick of kissing frogs.
Even the ones who drive shiny, black Mercedes.