Girls Like Me

23 Feb

It’s been suggested to me that my choosing skills are a little lacking, particularly when it comes to dating. I understand the concern, friends, family, and licensed therapists. I do. I mean, in the past two years I have kept company with:

Hobo Mark, who is now hiding from the DEA living in Florida and left Michigan with nothing but a phone call.

Hobo Nick, who ended up being a level of homeless that I couldn’t accept, plus he owned a guitar and looked exactly like my ex-husband.

A carpenter from Kalamazoo who grows his own marijuana and looks so good without a shirt on I can barely stand it but tends to disappear for about a month or so between dates.

And a whole other cast of characters that includes a redhead with a lisp but killer sleeves.

Between them these men claim more abortions, children out of wedlock, “crazy” ex-girlfriends/wives, drug problems, and arrest records than a small mining town.

And I fucking adored every one of them, to varying degrees. I’m drawn to men like this, not because I think “bad boys” are sexy (who am I, Blossom?) but because these men will never think I’m strange. These men will never look at me as an experience to have before getting married to someone less colorful. And look, I’m not glamorizing myself as a Girl, Interrupted or whatever, but I’ve got my flaws. I’ve got my foibles.

At the behest of my therapist I just went out on 7 (she encouraged 10, but fuck, guys) dates with a very normal guy. No tattoos, no drug problems, no arrest record, has an education, car,  job. The whole nine.  He picked me up for most of my dates, paid for my pinot noir. Oh, and made fun of my tattoos, weed stash, and sexual appetite. I don’t know what it is about wearing a polo shirt that makes men think they can talk down to me, but it is magical. I mean, we didn’t even get to all the weird but ultimately lovable things about me like my night terrors and pathological fear of bats. And so tonight I broke things off and neither one of us seemed very disappointed. I wish I could lock down some kind of moral to the story. I just know that those other guys, the ones with spotty histories and empty wallets, never made me feel cheap.

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