My last boyfriend, Pete insisted on sleeping with two laptops and peed in a pickle jar next to my bed because he was afraid of falling down the stairs. Everything made him anxious: Mosquitoes. Humidity. Leaving his apartment. And to top it off: he wanted me to weigh three hundred pounds. “It’s not a fetish,” Pete explained to me when I confronted him about the obese ladies on his Facebook page. “It’s a preference.”
But here’s the thing about Pete: he was really, really good looking and I liked toting him around. He was my trophy. Except as our relationship wore on, all I saw were the callouses on his fingers.
“I think we should break up,” I announced on day 54.
“Okay,” Pete said.
“Okay?”
“My blood sugar is low. I’m hungry,” he said. I could hear him typing. “I need to eat something.”
“Shouldn’t we discuss this more?” I asked. Even though I had absolutely no desire to be his girlfriend anymore, I was hoping for a little drama, some sniffling that he would try and pass off as a cold.
But no. Pete just wanted to get off the phone and eat a sandwich.
*
Pete said “I love you” on our second date. It was a muggy June night and he kept grabbing my hands and kissing them wildly.
“Do you love me back?” Pete asked.
“We hardly know each other,” I replied. I didn’t know Pete’s middle name. Or if he would save me the last bite of dessert. Or that he was insane.
“I see you for who you are,” Pete said, “This has never happened to me before.”
I shuffled my feet on the ground and stared at my toes. I cried when the Bad Canadian told me he loved me. Same with my college boyfriend Rich. Hearing the words too soon was like reading a rich, gorgeous ending to a novel without knowing the characters.
But at the same time it felt good enough. I felt relief come over me. Someone loved me. I was done dating! So that night in the park, I rested my head on his shoulder and I lied, I hoped the feeling would come to me.
After six years in New York City I’ve come to the conclusion that men want to fall in love just as badly as women do. One good date and suddenly the boy is calling every night. He wants to know your family tree. But after two weeks, something shifts. The spell is broken. This is when the initial excitement wears off and he realizes things are moving too fast. He barely knows you! “Listen,” the boy says, “You’re a great girl. But we need to pull on the reins here.” He’ll make you think it’s your fault. It’s not.
I believe guys are born without brakes, and it’s up to us to set the pace. This goes for sex stuff too. I believe the best relationships unravel slowly. But I believe this too: when you meet the right person none of this stuff matters.
My hilarious British friend is figuring out how to date American-Style… check out her blog.
October 15, 2009 at 1:00 pm |
[...] Rachel Paula Just another WordPress.com weblog « Full speed ahead [...]
October 16, 2009 at 1:18 am |
Babe, I have to tell you: almost every serious (by that I mean meaningful, rewarding, with a good guy) relationship I’ve had in my twenties started with sex on the first date. Including the one I’m in now! Hahaha. I’m not saying that I, er, always do this, or that it’s always the best plan. But, there you have it.
On the other hand, I totally agree that guys are born without brakes. They’re born without several key features that I personally would like to see installed.
The problem for me, for a long time, was that I didn’t have any brakes, either. With V (current guy) I simply didn’t believe him when he said how much he liked me right out of the gate. It took me a few months to take him seriously and realize that he was an awesome guy. I always thought that when I fell in love I would know right away–and sometimes you do have an instant connection. But this time, it wasn’t like that at first, but now it’s wonderful. Just some food for thought. xo