When the Rom Com Ends

It always ends with a passionate embrace, happy tears, an ‘I love you’, or an engagement. And then the credits roll. Usually there is a short denouement – a heartwarming scene of the wedding, or the pregnancy, or a small child to give us re-assurance that the happiness continues.

But the film I want to see starts with the ‘I love you’ embrace and goes from there. Because it’s a story that’s never told. We love courtship; courtship is sexy and exciting. But what about once we’ve been courted? What happens then? What is THAT story supposed to look like? Can we find romance and excitement in the gritty day-in and day-out functioning of a romantic partnership?

A shift has occurred in my relationship and that shift is beyond my dating experience, so I’m feeling a little lost.

He walked into the bathroom while I was peeing. That’s when I knew it had happened. We’ve made it past the casual dating stage where you’re both trying all the time. It has evolved to be comfortable.

Rather than being Barbie and Ken dolls, we’re seeing each other as humans now. And it’s scary. All of the sudden, he is a real person. And he has flaws. Some of them are endearing, but some of them aren’t. I imagine he’s reaching the same conclusion about me right about now.

He has baggage. I have baggage. As much as we both try to leave it behind, we each have a small carry-on that we haven’t yet been able to part with. Maybe we never will.

Every relationship that makes it through the months of excitement-filled courtship must inevitably reach this stage – the stage of standing exposed to each other (hopefully literally as well as figuratively – bow chick a bow wow) and deciding whether you can love the person who has been hidden underneath a carefully constructed public facade.

And I am clinging to my clothing. I am so afraid he won’t like what’s underneath. But really, whats the use in that? Can I maintain an elaborate illusion of black eyelashes and straight hair forever? Likely not. And if he won’t like gritty, real me, isn’t it better to know that sooner rather than later?

I don’t know how to be perfect. Inevitably I will mess up. And nobody exists who won’t annoy me. Nobody exists who will always say and do the right thing. The Rom Com persona can only be maintained for so long. And then we must transition to the part of the story that happens when the Rom Com ends. And I have no model for that story.

It’s not that all of the excitement is gone. It’s still very much alive. But the quality of the interaction has changed from one of measured, even calculated infatuation, to something more concrete, honest and exposed.

We are required to be vulnerable to move forward and that is unnerving.

But then he pulls me aside with curly post-shower hair that hasn’t yet been straightened and tells me he likes my hair. And I wake up smiling to the sound of him snoring like a hibernating bear. These are the moments in my post-romcom film. And they are romantic in a way that is more REAL than any rom com.

Being Betty Draper

So there’s been a snag with Mr. Perfect. I mean, I suppose even Mr. Perfect can’t be PERFECT.

Our relationship is going well. I know this because we are having serious discussions about life logistics. I have felt generally re-assured by these discussions because I repeatedly find that our goals and values are aligned. These talks have been incredibly re-assuring as I continue to picture the white-picket fence with this man.

There is one topic that has emerged, however, that has made me uneasy. Mr. Perfect feels very strongly that he would like his wife to take his last name. I have, however, spent the last 15 years of my life vehemently declaring that I will never change my last name. Hmmmm…

Growing up, I remember being the only kid in my class whose mother had a different last name. I remember it being annoying because people were always confused. I remember wishing my mother had the same name as the rest of us. But at some point during my teenage years, my mother sat me down and she told me about my grandmother. My grandmother was a physics teacher – a brilliant woman who went on to be the “chairman” of the Board of Education. Apparently she was just fine with being called, ‘the chairman’. And my grandfather was just fine with it too. My grandmother owned her own land and had her own opinions. And she and my very successful grandfather were a great team. They were together until they both died in their 90s. My mother told me that her parents’  model had made a strong impact on her. She had kept her last name because it was part of her identify, and that no man who loves you, will ask you to give up your identity.

I have made very few decisive public statements in my life, but the “not changing my name” statement has been one of them. I usually see the grey in every situation. But this has never been grey to me. I am a professional who has spent many years building my identity. And in the past, I have never been able to conceive of changing my name. I have to say though, lately I have found myself considering it…

I have raised the point that it comes from a long history of ownership and subjugation of women. He says perhaps it has, but that’s not what it’s about for him. Bones aka Mr. Perfect, thinks its romantic. He thinks its a nice tradition. Now I just want to be clear – this is a man who has told me he likes me because I am smart and because I have a career. This is a man who wants a wife who is her own person. I don’t actually think he wants a Stepford wife. But Bones is a gentleman – he carries my bags, and he opens doors for me. And I don’t mind accepting those somewhat gendered traditions.

I’m feeling somewhat disturbed…but not with him…the uneasiness I feel is with myself. There is a part of me that aspires to be a Stepford wife.

I’m a perfectionist.

I WANT to be beautiful all the time, and cook tasty dinners, and bake for the kids’ bake sales, and be in wicked shape, and know what’s happening in the world, and also be a respected professional with a bad-ass career…oh and a sex goddess. That too. I want to be a “perfect” wife for Mr. Perfect. And maybe that means taking his last name (which is a GREAT name, by the way). Trust me – ‘Mrs. SSM Perfect’ sounds good. And the idea of it makes me excited.

I am in equal parts grasping and rejecting the cult of domesticity.

But I feel as though I am betraying all of the women who have come before me and fought to NOT have these requirements of womanhood imposed upon them. My desire to be super-woman/mom/wife is at odds with the respect I have for my mother, a woman who ran her own company and refused to change her last name. And my father, who supported her in doing that during the 80s, when that was much harder than it is now. I think changing my last name would make my mother very sad.

I am dating a wonderful man. He is smart and hardworking and accomplished. He is considerate and caring. My parents always told me that one of the most important qualities that determines the success of a relationship is shared values. And in SO MANY WAYS, we share values.  So what if I were to change my name? Would I resent him? Would I lose myself? Or would it just be a romantic gesture for a man I love?

Being a tiny rodent when it comes to romance

So one day a couple of months ago, Bones marched me into a falafel place after work (astutely noticing that I was hangry and consequently hangdecisive (hangdecisive = the state of indecisive ridiculousness that ensues with a certain dip in blood sugar). While I grumpily inhaled that pita-wrapped vegetarian deliciousness, he casually tossed out, “I think we should go travelling somewhere together”.

I looked behind me to see who he was ACTUALLY talking to. Because I still can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that this AMAZING man wants to hang out with me. So I nonchalantly said, “Sure. Where do you want to go?” (while I giddily jumped up and down in my head) and we made plans to go on a vacation together.

It’s odd…I’ve always thought of myself as a relatively confident person. I prize the fact that I’m not a ‘silly’ insecure woman who needs external validation. But lately with Bones I have been peeling back layers of my own thoughts and dissecting them. I am like Shrek – an ogre (grumpy when I’m hungry) and an onion (with my layers). I have found, to my horror, that I am actually harbouring some rather significant man-related insecurities based on faulty man-related assumptions.

I have been quick to assume that Bones doesn’t want to spend time with me, that he doesn’t find me interesting, that he won’t ever want to spend time with my friends or family, that he wouldn’t be interested in the movies, shows, music and books that I like. I have assumed he will be dismissive of me. I have assumed that he is mostly interested in sex, and that his interest will fade. Even though my logical brain knows these thoughts to be untrue, I have been projecting onto him the behaviours I came to expect from Geek.

This is funny because there is no other aspect of my life where I am so quick to under-value myself. Romantically, however, I seem to see myself as a small dirty grey mouse hiding in the corner behind an old crumpled newspaper.

I was incredibly nervous in asking Bones to join my family for dinner and a musical, just assuming he would never want to come. Instead he enthusiastically agreed. I offered him a number of “outs” in attending a ski weekend with my friends. Instead of taking the outs, he went out of his way to help me organize our travel there. I loudly played Taylor Swift when he was out of the room. When he came back in, he smiled at me and made no request or attempt to change the music. He started reading my Robert Galbraith novel over my shoulder. He asks my opinion. Often. And he seems to genuinely take into consideration my thoughts and the occasional advice I offer. His actions ALL contradict the subconscious messaging I have been giving myself about him and the relationship.

I’ve thought Geek was long gone, but apparently he has left me one last fucked-up parting gift – a plethora of harmful assumptions about interacting romantically with men that simply aren’t true. We all have these subconscious thought patterns that shape how we interact with the world. Some of these patterns are helpful, while others are harmful. Some of the most successful therapies that exist aim to identify and re-frame these harmful thought patterns.

I’m not sure how to vanquish my tiny-corner-mouse romantic insecurities, but I’m going to take a little hint from AA and start by admitting that I have a problem. Maybe by being conscious, I can begin to re-program myself. I have high hopes that Bones will be the cheese that helps me learn to run differently through the maze. Mmmm brie.

That 4 letter word

So I’ve been having moments where I feel ‘IT’ and I’m all shook up. Get your dirty mind out of the gutter; I’m talking about a feeling, not a body part.

He fell asleep and I had to leave so I kissed that spot on his chin just under the corner of his lips. I said bye, and when he smiled, still half asleep, I spontaneously felt that WORD bubble to the surface of my mind. And for a moment it felt warm and wonderful… before panic welled,  I locked my lips together, and I choked it back down into my emotional recesses.

While I rode the elevator I found myself puzzled by my own reaction. Shouldn’t it be a wonderful thing, to feel that feeling which is what I long to have with the future Mr Awesome (the theoretical spouse to my Mrs Awesome, collectively know as Team Awesome)? I hate the idea of playing games…except for Risk, because who doesn’t love a little world domination?

I want to love someone and to be loved. Deeply. So why did that word, unspoken and un-alluded to, spark in me a feeling of dread? I was travelling down from the top floor, so I had a good amount of time to think and by the ground floor had concluded that the word, “love” is dangerous. The word “love” makes us vulnerable. Because the people we love have the greatest potential to rip our still-beating hearts out of our chests, Temple of Doom style. Non-sequitur: I am offended by Willie Scott’s character on behalf of all women. She is just so useless. I am even more offended that Indy is attracted to her. Moving on…

I recognize my own pathology in this situation. It’s so clichéd to be afraid of being vulnerable in a new relationship because you’ve been hurt. I’m actually a little embarrassed by it; how very boring.

But vulnerability is currency. We must pay enough out for the other person to feel valued and trusted, but not so much that we become poor without reciprocity. I am afraid that with the word, I lay all my chips on the table. I become broke and so very very vulnerable. And I dread a beat of silence and a response like, “thank you” or, “I feel like I’m not quite ready to say it” or “that’s a really big thing to say”. Because ewwww. That’s not how it’s supposed to happen.

And so goes this game of who says, “I love you” first.

I want to be honest and open. I don’t want to be afraid. Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself, right? (You have to hear that in Hermione’s voice). But I have, what I believe, is a healthy fear of love. I respect its destructive power. And so I find myself attempting to keep it at arms’ length as much as possible. This of course is not possible at all. I am beginning to love him and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. And perhaps if Indiana Jones can be into Willie (because, let’s face it, that was ridiculous), Bones might actually love me too.

Staking claim by way of a toothbrush

I did it. I left a toothbrush in his bathroom. I feel like the British Empire.

“I claim this (l/m)an(d) for SSMland (by putting this toothbrush in his bathroom). That’s supposed to be a witty mix of man and land, but really it just looks like I tripped and fell on my keyboard…

The point is I did it and now he’s mine…mmm gollum…;) and my breath is better.

Committing to commitment

During my undergraduate studies, I took the second best academic course that exists on the planet. It was an English Literature course, the subject of which was entirely Jane Austen. I got academic credit to read about Emma’s matchmaking, Fanny’s steadfastness, Elizabeth’s prejudice and Mr. Darcy’s pride. This course was second only to the English Literature course I took on Science Fiction and Fantasy novels. I often reflect on the fact that I could have completed an entire degree in English Literature…aka a degree in my own personal happiness. It is perhaps one of my life’s greatest regrets. But then, of course, I am rather happy to be gainfully employed, which I can’t say would be the case if I had done a degree in literary happiness.

Though Austen’s novels often contain heartbreak and scandal, they are the rom coms of the 1800s, with romantic picture-perfect endings. It is no wonder they have been beloved by women (and I’m sure some men too, though they won’t be too vocal in admitting it) for the last 200 years.

One cannot reflect on Jane Austen without also reflecting on love.

The professor of the class was a quirky academic in her 40s. I vividly remember a lecture during which she delivered a seeming soliloquy asking what became of Austen’s beloved couples when the final chapters ended. Were they loves that would endure? Were their foundations solid? She questioned what factors allowed some romantic relationships to stand the test of time and others to crumble. She spoke about her own parents’ 30 + year marriage. To her, their relationship was a mystery. She said the only characteristic she had ever been able to identify in their marriage that truly made it work was what she called “a commitment to commitment”.

Once she had planted this idea in my mind, it began to root and I began to identify it all around me. I saw it in my parents’ relationships, in the relationships of my aunts and uncles. An enduring relationship endures because we dedicate ourselves to its endurance.

We hope for shared interests, some commonality in sense of humour, similar values. But those things are not enough and I would argue not the distinguishing factors in the relationships that ‘make it’. I don’t think its magic, the existence of soul mates, finishing each others’ sentences, etc that makes something last. The people who stay together are committed to commitment. I think that’s all there is to it.

If it’s so simple, why doesn’t everybody just stay together? Because being committed to commitment isn’t easy. And one person being committed to commitment isn’t enough. The trick is to find another person who will do it with you. Forever. There’s a little Ben Harper, “Forever” for you right here:

ust because it might be difficult doesn’t mean it isn’t simple. You haven’t failed until you’ve given up. So if you both decide that failure is not an option, you CAN’T fail. It’s not possible. J

So how do you know if someone is committed to commitment? I have been so focused on finding someone who checks everything off on the list, that I have neglected to pay attention to the most important element of an enduring relationship; this person needs to have a ‘failure is not an option’ attitude.

So now I find myself looking for commitment to commitment everywhere. I am listening for times in the past when he gave up versus endured. I am watching his relationships with his friends during difficult times. I am listening to his opinions on his friends’ relationship problems. I am detectiving so hard (I want credit on that one, Oxford Dictionary).

There are lots of examples of great loves that are not enduring. They burn hot and they burn out. I’m still trying to figure out how to know if this guy will simmer with me for the long haul or head for the hills when he gets bored or frustrated. I’m looking for his commitment to commitment.

A boyfriend by any other name…

 

So something weird happened to me the other day. I was talking to a colleague (someone I hardly know) and I started sharing with her a fact that Bones had shared with me. I realized mid-sentence that I was going to have to tell her the source. And I didn’t know how to refer to him.

We’ve been dating each other exclusively for 3 months. Things are going well. We see each other multiple times per week. We go grocery shopping and make meals together. We work out. We text throughout the day. It’s a relationship.

But we haven’t labelled what we’re doing yet. Calling him “a friend” doesn’t work. But saying “the guy I’m dating” feels like not quite enough. It feels flippant, and I don’t feel flippant about him.

This colleague of mine is basically a stranger and not someone I’m likely to see again. So I did an experiment. I felt my mouth form the word “boyfriend” to describe him. I haven’t described anyone with that word in a long time. Like salsa dancing, baguettes and shoes sized in the 30s, it felt foreign. Good foreign.

It felt so good that I did it again with another acquaintance. It’s lucky I’ve stayed away from cocaine because if I can get this kind of a rush for dropping that 9-digit word, I can’t even imagine what hard drugs would do to me. That’s a lie; I can imagine it. My face would explode. Pieces of it would stick to the walls.

So I mentioned previously that Bones and I work in the same field. Today we ended up at a conference together, each with our respective colleagues. I arrived late and sat at the back. He was already there, looking REAL GOOD in his suit (you have to say that with a bit of a southern drawl for it to work). And when the session ended I found myself high tailing it to the elevator to get out of there. I didn’t even make eye contact with him. What a socially ridiculous thing to do to the future father of my children.

As soon as I was crammed in the elevator I had second thoughts, but realized it would look silly if I went back. So I stuck with my fleeing guns and left, texting him that I was late for a meeting (which, in fairness, I was).

My emotions are usually a full thinking session ahead of my brain. And I needed some time for brain catch up.

Here’s what I realized after my slow grey matter had picked apart my sprinting limbic’s actions: I am anxious about that moment when we’re standing next to each other at the coffee station, using those silly little plastic stir sticks which look like they’re going to melt in your hot beverage, and one of our colleagues approaches. And an introduction has to be made. And a name isn’t enough, there has to be context. Ie “this is SSM, my girlfriend”. I figure there are multiple possible scenarios: 1) I introduce him as my boyfriend and he panics because it’s too soon and we haven’t discussed this, or 1b, he’s super excited about it, 2) I introduce him with his job title and leave out the romantic relationship, and he feels insulted or hurt, 3) he introduces me by my professional title and Leaves out the romantic relationship and I am insulted and hurt or 4) he introduces me as his girlfriend and I am elated.

There are too many possibilities there that leave somebody’s feelings hurt. And I realized I just want to avoid those potentially hurtful situations. By being a crazy person who sprints out of a conference.

So I’m thinking I’m going to have to be an adult about it and ask him if he wants to get pinned. I’m not sure how that convo goes now that we’re not wearing poodle skirts though…

Because up until today I haven’t worried so much about the label. But I feel like it matters. And I’m chasing the dragon; I want that B-word rush…maybe even when talking with some people I actually know.

“you’ll just know” is crap

How many times have you heard the phrase, “when you meet the right person, you’ll just know”?

I’ve heard it SO MANY times. And every time, I feel enraged. What an incredible oversimplification. Humans are infinitely emotionally intricate.

It is absolutely ridiculous to think that you could know after spending a few hours with someone that you want to spend the REST OF YOUR LIVES together. It is absurd to think that it doesn’t take months, if not years, to know someone sufficiently to make a decision to be with them FOREVER.

Nothing is black and white. Literally nothing is…except for the colours ‘black’ and ‘white’…shades? Some elementary school art teacher would be upset with me for that comment, I’m sure.

I have always been skeptical about the idea that  relationships are static – that two people just fit together perfectly like puzzle pieces. Our edges are moving and changing. It must take time sitting next to each other on the table  to see if we will settle in a position that keeps us locked together. I don’t like the idea of soul mates…I think because it leaves too much to chance, and I need to be in control. I also recognize that I spent a long time with Geek, never feeling like the relationship was quite right, and convincing myself that “right” didn’t actually exist. I thought that with enough hard work, I could create “right”. And it’s not to say that relationships aren’t work…its just that what I was doing, wasn’t the right kind of work.

And so I have always been politely dismissive of these “you’ll just know” people; the YJK people are deluding themselves.

This is the exact argument I would have made 3 months ago, before I met Bones. And now I firmly disagree with everything above. Because I just know. This is it. This is going to work. This guy is the one. And I knew after the second date.

I don’t wear a lot of hats, but I promise to eat one if I’m wrong. But I truly don’t believe I’m going to be eating any felt (because obviously if I’m eating a hat, it will be a felt one. I googled and found the most appetizing hat image – posted above). My rational brain is skeptical, but my emotional brain isn’t. I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. But no shoe-sounds from above. I think this man might only have one shoe.

When you finally actually know what you’re looking for, you know when you find it.

Of course I’m infatuated; it has only been 3 months. But this feels different than anything has ever felt before. It itches of longevity. Of course, I have heard myriad people say “you’ll just know” before, and not believed them. So let me attempt to explain what it is about Bones that feels different (of course I would take something highly emotional and attempt to codify it):

1. He’s not finding himself anymore. He has a clear sense of who he is and what he wants in life. He is a solid, stable, independent unit and I am an autonomous unit with him. There are so many 30 year old men who are still having identity crises. “Maybe I’ll quit my job and move to a beach in Thailand to become a yoga instructor”. Yeah – I’m sure your skills as a lawyer will be highly transferrable there. PS it’s good you’ve spent all of this money and time training. Ick.

2. He’s not afraid of commitment. He was able to clearly state up front that he’s looking for someone to settle down with, that he wants to get married, and that he wants to have kids. His friends are doing it, so it doesn’t seem to scare or intimidate him. His timelines for doing these things are in line with mine ( So many guys I know are totally fine with having kids hypothetically ‘in 10 years or something’…because who cares about science telling us that babies born to women in their 40s have higher rates of EVERYTHING we’d rather they didn’t have).

3. There are no games. He is clear and direct in what he says. He’s interested in me and clear in his intentions. When he is free, he asks me to make plans. He’s not dating other people to hedge his bets. He’s “in” and clear about it.

4. Our values are very much in line. We discussed big issues early – religion, gender roles, thoughts on controversial topics, where we would be comfortable living, finances, etc. We don’t agree on everything we discuss, in fact there are lively debates, but not about the big stuff. The big stuff lines up.

4. It has never felt gimmicky. I have been on a lot of dates where it feels like we’re both trying too hard. I have been taken to fancy restaurants. There have been boat cruises and walks through museums and aquariums. There have been suits and ties and surprise concerts and sweet/thoughtful gifts. And it’s not to say I don’t like fancy things and fun outings. Bones cleans up good (I recognize the grammatical failing in that sentence, but it just has to be that way. Sorry). But ultimately I have been looking for someone to go running, cook dinner and sit on the couch with in my PJs watching Jon Stewart. I feel comfortable with him in my sweatpants and slippers. He is comfortable.

5. He’s loyal. He sees his friends and family. He calls and texts them regularly. He is forgiving of their faults. He has had many of his friends since childhood. He has good friends with whom he makes regular plans and goes on vacations. This is important because I need my annual trips with my friends, and I know he understands this.

6. He is focused on his career and has complete understanding of my focus. It helps that we come from the same work world. He gets the dedication required. He’s not intimidated by what I do.

7. I don’t find him exhausting. This is a given, right? But I have dated a few guys who I have just found emotionally exhausting. There was constant texting and constant reading between the lines, and constant manoeuvring. Bones is easy.

8. I feel good about myself around him. I don’t feel like I’m needing to be anyone other than who I am. He nerds out right along with me. This is the man who, when I couldn’t find the entrance to his building (it was under construction), told me to grab a shopping cart and come through the wall.

9. He recognizes the importance of meeting my friends and making an effort with them. He showered, he shaved, he dressed appropriately, he shook their hands, he made small talk, and he did all of this after a 15-hour day of work. He knows it matters that my people like him.

10. There is strong physical attraction. I’m not sure this needs elaboration. But DAMN. 🙂

I still don’t believe in soul mates. There is no magic here. But there is something like intense compatibility. And intense compatibility feels solid to me. I would bet on intense compatibility.

Maybe it will all fall apart. But if it does, the bar has been set in an entirely new stratosphere. And I just don’t think it’s going to fall apart. I am in. And he is giving me every indication that he is too.

Climbing in my fire escape

So Bones climbed in my fire escape. This is not a metaphor. He literally did. It was adorable. Because he is a big man and he barely fit through the window.

We had gone on 6 dates. All of the later dates were sweaty athletic dates ie. biking and running. They were out in public and I was smelly and he is shy.

So here’s a strategy: if you want to delay physical contact, just plan athletic dates. It’s easy because if they invite you back to their place, you can just say you need to go home and shower. Nobody can argue with that. Unless you’re one of those women who doesn’t sweat…I’m not sure if that’s a real thing, or a unicorn-like legend.  I digress. Problematically, the sweat began to work against us. So there were no kisses.

And we both started to feel that ‘make-or-break’ pressure…the ‘make-out-or-break’ pressure, if you will (I’m really pleased with myself for that one). Because at some point if you’re hanging out regularly with no physical contact, you’re friends. And I don’t need any more friends…especially not tall, dark, and handsome friends who I’m terribly attracted to. I got the feeling he wasn’t looking for a friend either.

There was a clock above the field, its big red numbers progressing toward the game’s end. We could both feel it. I needed to take the ball wide and cross it in to him for a header. Listen, this is a sports analogy. Don’t get all dirty with your mind. We were on the same team and we both knew what we needed to do.

Our schedules were both hectic. He had family in town staying with him. I had a friend coming to stay with me the next week. And there was no way we were going to just make-out in public. I didn’t have to ask – I just knew we were on the same page about the public make-out. Public displays of affection are horrible. I’m a wasp and they’re horrible. That’s all there is to it.

So I invited him over.  And this is how he came to be climbing in my fire escape with a goofy grin on his face.

And we both knew why he was there. We needed to beat the clock. I was worried that this pressure would create a rushed, awkward kiss. I was nervous after the horrible turn things took when Adman bit me instead of kissing me. Yes, it’s true. No, I’m not exaggerating. I was worried he would just kiss me and there would be nothing to it. I was worried he would rush. I was worried it would be a let down. The first kiss matters. I am a crazy neurotic person, and for crazy neurotic people, the first kiss matters.

We sat on the couch for almost 2 hours, just talking and getting closer, and finding excuses to touch each other’s knees. And then when the tension couldn’t build any more, it happened. I’m not sure who kissed whom. It was total team work. We were in it to win it. And we did.

This was the Ginny Weasley of dates: 7th date, 7th ginger child. But this kiss had soul.

And with that, I became even MORE stupidly infatuated with Bones. I was aware of my own irrationality. But wow, infatuation feels good.

Men can smell competition

I hate to stereotype, but men are not always the most perceptive. They do, however, seem to have a 6th sense about competition. As soon as I started replying to other men online and decided I should be going on other dates, Bones sent me an adorable text message. I have been reeled back in; I just can’t bring myself to date anyone else. I figure he’s got me, but he doesn’t quite need to know it yet. 

But I promised some stories of the men who didn’t manage to have me head over heels, so let’s leave Bones for a few moments and focus on the chapter I have called “it’s not me, it’s you”.