One of my struggles (and yes, I have many – thanks for noticing) is that the art of subtlety is totally and completed wasted on me. I am as subtle as a charging bull in the streets of Pamplona. With extreme self-restraint, I can almost pass as normal but when I hear those dreaded words, “Thank you for your candor,” I know that once again, I’ve failed the field subtlety test.
Now that I’m facing the eighth anniversary of my 29th birthday, I no longer lament my lost subtlety gene and instead, have come to embrace the strengths of my genetic disability. Even when I’m making every attempt to be the polite Minnesota girl my parents raised, my giant billboard forehead broadcasts my true feelings at all times. If I think you suck, you’ll know it. If I like you, you’ll know it. And if I am thinking about biting off your finger for some reason, well, you’ll know that too.
When you combine my inability to appreciate and/or recognize subtle signs without corrective lenses with my belief in signs (as in, signs from the universe, not stop signs. Those are more of a universal truth.), you begin to understand how I allowed Frog #6 to hop all over my self-esteem.
Now, before you go getting all Elf-Therapist on me, let me say this for the record. I like Frog #6. It’s not his fault that he’s not that into me. While I can’t imagine why any straight man wouldn’t want to hook up with a princess like me, it is possible that I’m not everyone’s taste. I can accept that. There must be some reason I’m still single, after all. Frog #6 is a decent frog who has shoved me into the friend zone – and that’s okay, too. In fact, to be really honest with you, this posting isn’t even about Frog #6. He could be any nice, attractive guy who thought he was into me and then realized, “Oh, hell. She is crazy. Abort! Abort!”
What bugs me, ladies and gentleman, is how Frog #6 has transformed me from princess to Dumb-Ass. Complete with capital letters. This frog hopped onto my radar screen some time ago, and I initially diagnosed him as a faux frog and wrote him off completely. Did I enjoy his company? Sure. Did I want to kiss him to see if he’d turn into a prince? Not so much. Unfortunately, this frog is a known quantity in my tiny social circle and I made the fatal mistake of listening to my equally dumb-ass friends who are clearly on Frog #6’s public relations payroll. As my dubious, sketchy friends sang the praises of how kind, attentive, witty, charming, loving, attractive and wonderful Frog #6 is – how he was “real boyfriend material” - I gave in to peer pressure and decided to give it a whirl.
Frog #6 and I have spent a lot of time together. I wanted to know him emotionally and intellectually before any frog-kissing ensued, which wasn’t difficult since he never, ever made any attempt to put any kind of move on me. While I appreciated having time to get to know him on deep, meaningful levels, I have never felt less attractive and more insecure about myself. Outings with Frog #6 would often end with me driving home, shouting, “Am I not cute???” at top volume while beating the steering wheel.
Unlike other frogs who haven’t been that into me, this Frog does a lot of the right stuff. He calls. He texts. He takes an interest in my life. He’s not embarrassed to be seen in public with me, and we’ve been out. Together. Sometimes even on Saturday nights.
And, yeah. I kissed this frog. My optimism knows no bounds. And if I believe my own hype, it’s a numbers game so what choice do I have but to pucker up and smooch as many frogs as I can? From my perspective, the kissing didn’t suck, but you’re only getting half the story. (I suspect that Frog #6 might disagree.) Kissing this frog wasn’t my fatal mistake – it was everything after that point.
Several national holidays of varying importance and the vernal equinox have come and gone since I kissed Frog #6. Keep in mind that I waited a LONG time for him to make any move at all (please see previous paragraph regarding self-esteem issues and possible lack of cuteness) because I don’t believe that the princess should be the one who makes the first move. Frog #6 and I haven’t had an encore performance, in spite of our semi-regular get-togethers in the subsequent weeks and months.
In spite of my total lack of subtlety, for reasons even I don’t understand – probably politeness, or maybe Catholicism – I haven’t been able to bring myself to ask Frog #6 the million dollar question; “Are we dating or what?” (Or even the ten dollar question of “Don’t you find me attractive?”) I can make a lot of excuses about why I haven’t had “the talk” with Frog #6 and some of them are even pretty believable, but at the end of the day, it’s fair to say that I just haven’t been in the mood for another helping of humiliation and rejection, thank you very much. And the longer one dawdles and puts off this kind of crucial conversation, the more likely it is that the situation will take care of itself. You see, procrastination often pays off.
I haven’t been pining away over Frog #6 or anything. I have a full and interesting life which has become even more full and interesting lately with my new job and travel schedule. In short, I have a lot going on and there is no way I am going to let a man or a frog derail progress towards my goals . . . again. See, Mr. Wrong? You did teach me something!
I do, however, enjoy Frog #6. He has a lot of good qualities that I won’t catalog here. But lately, I’ve started to wonder what the hell the situation is between this princess and that frog. And then the universe started lobbing bricks at my head.
After a long and trying day at the office, I returned to my hotel room, popped open a bag of Cheetos and a Diet Coke, and flipped on HBO. As I flopped down onto my too-short queen-sized bed, I got sucked into a movie that may be based on my own life; He’s Just Not That Into You. If you haven’t seen it, lovely and successful women like Jennifer Anniston, Drew Barrymore, and Scarlett Johansson spend the entire movie learning the hard way that various guys? Just aren’t that into them. Of course, because Hollywood made this film, it ends up being a love story with a happy ending, but I couldn’t help but notice a striking similarity to my own Frog #6 dilemma and this movie plot.
This movie resonated with me and I began to wonder, “Is it possible that Frog #6 really isn’t into me?” as I washed the Cheeto-orange off my fingers.
The next day, I stopped off at SuperTarget on the way home to pick up a few provisions. As I trolled the store trying not to spend $100 on a bunch of shit I don’t need, I wound up in the books/magazines section where the New York Times bestseller, He’s Just Not That Into You was marked down 75%. I felt it was a sign so I put it in my cart and checked out.
Like any good self-help book, this tome contains several checklists and quizzes so the reader can assess her progress. And here is what I learned, in no particular order:
• Men are not afraid of “ruining the friendship” and if they tell me they are, they are politely rejecting me.
• If he likes me, he WILL ask me out.
• Men don’t forget how much they like me.
• “Busy is another word for ‘asshole.’ Asshole is another word for the guy you’re dating.” (p. 34).
• There’s a guy out there who wants to tell everyone he’s my boyfriend. I should stop wasting time and go find him.
• “Your lost self-esteem may take longer to find than a new boyfriend so prioritize accordingly.” (p. 57).
• There’s a guy out there that wants to marry me
I could go on but I won’t. All cinematic and book-related signs point to this: Frog #6 just ain’t into me. I don’t know how that’s possible since I am not only a princess but a princess in one heckuva nice looking package, but hell – maybe he’s gay. Or vision-impaired.
Will I see Frog #6 again? Maybe. But let me be crystal clear about one thing: I’m not shaving my legs for him ever again. Welcome to the friend-zone, #6. Try not to choke on your own regrets.
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