I recently discovered that a very, very dear friend has had the opinion that I was close-minded and at times could be judgmental. Why did I feel like my hair ignited when I heard this? I truly felt hot when I heard this; I have prided myself on striving with all my being to accept everyone and them a chance until they prove they are undeserving but I try to be empathetic at all cost. So maybe this “very dear friend” felt this way because I’m a middle class white girl, raised in the bible belt . So, while waiting for my hair to grow back after this fiery attack on my acceptance of others, I broke my rule. Why I went against my preference in leisure activity that the guy I chose to date engages in is BEYOND me. But I certainly showed her (like I should’ve cared). I have never been into weed. I know all the “stats” and I’ve been “educated” from countless acquaintances about its benefits but, my stance stands: it’s not my thing. I have never gone on more than one date with anyone that partakes in this leisure activity because the smell physically makes me ill, much like the way cigarette smoke effects some. See that trashcan in the corner? I’m about to make acquaintances with it the moment someone lights up. Well, this dating casualty was a queasy adventure about someone that practically needs it to function. Boy was cool. Unmistakably witty and gosh, was he smart. His vocabulary would make an literature professor proud. So we went out on a 3-day weekend and stayed out all Sunday night; it honestly felt scripted from a movie. We started at a bowling alley, then an introspective tour through The Battery (nearly majestic park in downtown Charleston) where we took a cliché selfie by the water (his idea) on his cracked phone, and then bar hopped until we found a snazzy place where the live jazz beckoned us from 3 blocks away. The saxophone captivated us. Pulling my hand, he spun me into a noticeable interest while dipping me into numerous compliments. Then he took me to a gay bar where he moved his hips enough that drew two guys to advance and try to join his movements. Flattered, he pulled me closer and motioned to me… I didn’t mind. He tarnished the moment with a pompous comment. Upon staring into my solid green eyes, he informed me that my pupil dilation is due to looking at something I liked and enjoyed viewing in which my eyes let more light in to enhance focus on the subject: him. A bit taken back, “well I guess the same for you,” I spatted while gazing into his faint blue eyes. You can guess his response… “Nah, I’m just really high.” Fan.fucking.tastic. Of course I was itching to inquire of the frequency which, to no surprise with a raspy voice revealed, “daily.” My eyes darted to the left and he continued, “but I go to work so I’m not a slacker; I just need it to relax.” The word “need” echoed in my head as I downed another Titos and soda with 3 limes. Oh, I’ve got my vices too… just don’t need it. He could sense the change of mood in the air. He grabbed my arm and kissed me. Smiling he said he would take me home. Our dated lasted 3 more hours in the pool by at my complex and then he made plans for an encore date before driving home when the sun was nearly rising. The dates to followed were filled with as much whit and enjoyment as the first. He even ventured 45 minutes to me in the hurricane that passed Charleston this past hurricane season. That was the night he confessed, “I’d love to find a girl to get high with.” I know he could sense that I certainly wouldn’t be a contender as I grabbed the silver cross around my neck. It’s a nervous tick I have. I glided it through my fingers as he continued: “If you ever want to smoke with me, let me know…” My response was prompt: “Let me know if you ever want to go to church with me.” Slyly smiling, he grabbed my ass and whispered, “touché.” As the fling continued, he started to push me on certain issues that we didn’t see eye-to-eye on. The texting lost momentum yet, he still attended my birthday dinner. He gave me a gift, joked with my friends, and spent the night but then returned to being distant. I offered to meet in his part of town and he blew me off (literally! “Last Dance with Mary Jane” starts) to do laundry. Who knew dirty socks could take precedence over a cute brunette with glasses and freckles— ouch. Then reported the rest of the weekend is planned for a couple bowls with his buddy. I pulled back; I refuse to compete with a plant… and dirty socks. He lets a week burn then texts: “I miss your face; need to see that shit real soon.” I wish I embellished that text— even down to the incorrect use of a semicolon. Naturally, I didn’t reply and that’s where it dissolved. This boy was stereotypical in the way that pot was priority. If you’re not smoking it with him, you’re not going to get much out of him… no, especially not a closure text. This fling leaves you with the munchies and a hunger for sticking to your preferences: height, humor, non-smoker, partier, Christian, muscle mania, or whatever those preferences may be. Your preferences should not be so easily swayed by a friend that attacked your openness— thanks, Susan! Coated in compliments and coated in trying something new. |
AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
April 2022
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