I have horrible luck. It’s especially horrible when it comes to dating. Like horrible luck. I mean, I can’t even tell you every single story cause it will take you forever to read them all. Most of them, I’ve been insulted. Over and over again. Then they were confused as to why I didn’t want to go home with them. I’ve thrown drinks in men’s faces. Almost punched one guy. Well all of them, but this one was especially deserving. Then there’s the guys where I’m thinking, “hey, this date isn’t too bad. Like I can kind of put up with this dude.”
Never hear another word from them. Which is fine. I’m not really anyone’s cup of tea. I get that. And I really don’t care. Then all of the sudden. Three. Years. Later. I get this:
Now. In the beginning, I thought maybe it was my friend. So I mentioned his wife. Not that John. Different John. I kind of knew that though, since my friend’s last name is in my phone. So it goes from there.
Ok, to be honest. I don’t remember who he is. But since he’s the only guy I went to play putt-putt golf with. I remember when that happened. Over three years ago. I repeat over… three… years… ago. Yep. You heard me. Three.
At first I thought it was only two. But after remembering the time frame, I realized it was over three. I saw the message from him asking if I wanted to go out as I was leaving work. And I started to answer yeah. Let’s go kayaking. That way I could get what I wanted and not have to pay for it. Yes, I’m one of those girls. Not all of the time though. Only to assholes.
I let the thought stew for about 30 minutes. And finally I figured out what I wanted to say. In my head it was a little different. But my final masterpiece:
I even followed up.
I’m not desperate. I’m not looking for my soul mate. I don’t even believe in soul mates. I don’t want to get married. I definitely don’t want any more kids. I’m happy by myself and I will probably be by myself for the rest of my life. I have no interest in being an afterthought. Or being tossed to the side like a pair of smelly socks.
“Stop being so picky,” this douchebag is the exact reason why I’m picky. And I’m not talking appearances. I’m talking overall demeanor, habits, the way he treats people, etc.
I wasn’t even going to write about this. But it was bugging me. And it was weighing heavily on my mind. One, I find it hysterical. And two, women deal with this shit all of the time! The good ones especially. We’re tossed aside. Ignored. Used. It’s gotta end.
Tell me your dating stories!
Kristy Kronas is a Certified Personal Trainer in the burbs of Chicago. She is a single parent and author with a children's book being published this fall! She has a passion for lifting, boxing, kayaking, and a hatred of running. Watch out for her new venture this September when she launches a daily podcast called the 'Daily Donut.' If you have any questions, comments, or just want to say hi, shoot her an email!