In October of 2009, I’d had enough. Exhausted, I went home from work, sat down on the couch, and said to my husband,
“I think I’m done here.”
We’d been together for twelve years, and I’d finally convinced myself that it was time to mosey along. The decision to leave evoked a grab bag of emotions – I felt empowered, afraid, happy, and lonely. Mostly, though, I felt like I was going to throw up.
Still, I forced myself on. I packed my things, rented a house, and loaded up my kids, in a whirlwind of tears and apologies and promises that everything would be okay.
And, as it turns out, everything was okay. Kids are tough, and they thought it was cool that they’d have two Christmases every year. Silver linings. I decided not to date for at least a year to make sure the kids were in a good place, and they needed me to be at home. Hell, I needed to be at home. I liked this new home. It was a happy place.
The first year passed, and – lo and behold – we were all in a good place. The kids had adjusted beautifully (two Christmases does not suck), The Ex and I were on decent terms, and my job was going well. I decided it was time to wade back into the dating pool.
Sweet Jesus, that’s where everything went sideways.
I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but I do know it was not this hell bus ride that I seem to have jumped aboard. In the last three years I have met, and dated, and slept next to, and even loved what are surely the most flawed and just downright fucked up men to ever walk this planet. That’s right, ladies, they aaaaaall found me.
There was:
The guy who lisped;
The guy who laughed like a woman;
The guy whose face smelled bad;
The guy with long pinky nails;
The guy with a tic;
The guy who’d get drunk, forget he’d already called me, and call me again;
The guy whose dog humped my head;
The narcissist (do NOT date one of these);
The Jesus fish;
The ugly guy; and
The cross dresser.
There was also the broken boy, but we don’t make fun of him. He’s the only one of them I loved.
The rest, however, are fair game and that’s why we are here. Because if you’re going to put yourself out in the dating world, you need to be ready. I thought I was ready. I went to great lengths to make sure I was ready. But no one told me what was waiting out there.
Truckloads of flawed men.
Guys, I’m not saying women are perfect, so don’t blow me up with a bunch of hate mail. I’m a big fan of men; y’all are fantastic. I’m just saying that I haven’t found my fantastic one; apparently he’s caught in a bear trap somewhere because I can’t locate him. But whilst searching for Mr. Fantastic McBeartrap I found, instead, men who smelled their shoes in front of me…and asked me to send them pictures of my feet. (The latter happened more than once.) The ladies need to know these guys are out there.
I’m a cautionary tale, girls. Heed these nuggets of wisdom! Dating sucks. Seriously, you don’t want this. So try to make your crappy relationship less craptastic (unless he’s abusive, that shit is not cool). Try to save your failing marriage. Try anything before you try the dating thing.
To those of you already out here in this dating muck, I sincerely hope you have better luck than me. I mean, your chances are good since I seem to find all the really, really bad ones. You’re welcome.
You can repay me by keeping your eyes peeled for a fantastic guy caught in a bear trap. If you spot him, kindly set him free. That one is mine.
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