Okay, so you saw this coming from a mile away. There will not be a 4th date with the Nice Guy. I will give myself a pat on the back for this one, however. I did not take the chicken shit approach that had been done to me in the past. I did not text, nor did I email. I called. I was respectful of his feelings; I was sensitive to the fact that he would undoubtedly be upset. But, I was honest.
After a few pleasantries, including him talking about a family dinner (after 3 dates!) I knew I just had to do it. Clean and easy, like ripping off a Band-aid. I said, “I need to be honest with you because I don’t want to lead you on. I don’t see us together romantically.” I was able to string together a few more awkward sentences, told him the usual stuff we hate to hear:” You’re a great guy, I just don’t feel that kind of chemistry” and “I enjoy hanging out but I know we’re both not looking for another friend.” That part was actually true. To hang with, I actually like the guy. I’ve said it before. He’s smart, he’s funny, we get along, I just don’t want any of our naked body parts to be touching. I wish he were gay. Then we could hang out, and he wouldn’t want to touch my boobs. Okay, maybe he still would. Gays love boobs.
There was the requisite silence on the other end, and then he said ever so nicely, “I understand. I had a feeling.” Phew! He had a feeling. We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and I wished him well and ended the conversation. Okay, disaster averted. I was proud of myself for handling it the way I did, and for the first time in a few weeks, relaxed knowing I didn’t have to return a “Goodnight” text. I think I actually slept through the night.
And then I woke up.
“Yesterday’s conversation is befuddling to me and caught me completely off guard.”
Oh boy, here we go. Yep, a two and a half page email followed, basically presenting his argument to me as to why I was crazy for coming to the conclusion I did. Guess this is where being a lawyer helps him out – and doesn’t help me.
“This is not attempt to give you a guilt trip – or any indication that I will “stalk’ you. Also, this email does not smack of desperation because one thing I am not is desperate.”
Really? You’re emailing a dissertation to a girl who after a cumulative total of 10 hours together said she wasn’t interested.
“My family and friends all know how picky I am with the fruit I pick at the market, so they know how damn picky I am with the women I date.”
I’m FRUIT now? Okay, I guess that part I understood. Classic defense mechanism, his pride and ego are bruised. But then…
“I was willing to put aside your fractured family and other little issues because I am done picking women apart. Believe me I understand you want to “hold out hope” that the perfect man will come along but you’re not getting any younger. And you’re far from perfect.”
I guess I deserved that. Wait, no I didn’t. I JUST WASN’T INTERESTED. My fractured family? All I ever said was that my parents were divorced. Aren’t half of all parents divorced? I could have been mean. I could have said, “Honestly, the thought of kissing you doesn’t appeal to me in the least because I don’t think you brush your teeth, and when I hug you I feel like I’m hugging a little boy.” But I didn’t. I was nice, because I’m a nice person and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Obviously he didn’t share that quality.
“In the end, I truly think you do not know what you are still looking for in a future life partner, even after 39 years on this earth.”
Okay, you got one right, buddy. Maybe I still don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. But if I know one thing, it’s what I’m NOT looking for.