The deal with this dude: Ok, shit is getting real. And by that I mean: he thinks he’s my boyfriend. I do not think he’s my boyfriend. I do not even know that I want to see him for a third date. But he definitely thinks he’s my boyfriend.
Exhibit A. The daily texting. Kind of charming. Kind of a lot. I don’t think I notice just how much it is because I’m stuck at a work conference most of the time he’s texting me so I’m more welcoming of it– being stuck in an exhibit hall for twelve hours at a time will alter your perception of things. And it’s all kind of fine until evidently I take too long responding to a text so that when I do respond, he says: “Thank God I heard from you, I was getting worried and fearing the worst. Yeah, I’m neurotic like that.”
What. The. Fuck?
Strongly consider texting back: “We have recovered KBM’s phone. THE WORST HAS HAPPENED.”
But I’m not totally a dick, so I refrain.
If you’re really that crazy, do me a favor and keep it the fuck under wraps until I’m sure I like you and can deal with it. Ideally: don’t be that crazy.
I ignore that text– I’m reverse Pavlov-ing him– and things resume but now his texts make me a little bit itchy. Particularly because it happens again a few days later– I don’t respond immediately to a “Hi! :)” text (also: what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?) so he sends me a picture of a baffled and sad monkey with the caption: “Was it something I said?”
I like no part of this.
Exhibit B. He buys tickets for us to go to the Symphony more than a month out. I’m not convinced I want to go on date 3 (plus, I’m already feeling a bit like I’m in a sexless marriage, no thanks) let alone that I’ll be seeing you still in a month. Presumptuous much?
Exhibit C. When I tell him I’m not feeling well (mostly, I’m trying to avoid this crazy texting marathon), he offers to bring me chicken noodle soup and tells me he’s “there for me.”
Oh my God oh my God oh my God he thinks he’s my boyfriend.
As one of my guy friends says: “Oh my God, run. Run far, run fast.”
I’ve been spending a ridiculous amount of time thinking about my lukewarm, non-existent and ambivalent-edging-towards-definite-disinterest feelings about this guy. I’ve been worried that some part of me is trying to reject a Nice Guy because he is too nice and too sweet to me. That I actively seek out guys who aren’t as interested in me, blah blah, psychobabble, blah blah.
That’s not what is happening here at all.
I have no doubt that I am lovable and desirable and worthy of being treated well. My concern is that he doesn’t know any of the things about me that make me such– that make me individually me, and he’s not really trying to. So this interest in me– it’s not really about me at all. That’s what I’m chafing about. That’s what I’m not liking.
Also this passive aggressive texting neediness bullshit? Wouldn’t be super excited about that in a boyfriend, so I’m really not excited by this streak in a guy I barely know. Who hasn’t even kissed me!
Goodbye, Nice Guy. You are nice, you will find someone who appreciates your crazy clingy concern.