Bursting Open - Act III

Act III: Our heroine steps into something great

After the Floyd encounter (maybe 'incident' would describe it more accurately, given it's connotations to negative events) I had a thing in my head that because my body type is a little 'juicier' no one would really be interested in me and that was what had ultimately put Floyd off (give me a few days and it's always my flaws that I'll concentrate on, rather than the fact that I wasn't at all interested in him either). I've always considered myself 'unconventionally attractive' (in that I'm a Nottie rather than a Hottie) but through a combination of an 'interesting' sense of style (i.e. using bright colours and shiny things to distract and baffle the opposite sex), my 'quirky' personality (I like some things that girls are not commonly known for liking), and sheer force of will there have been a number of guys over the years who have shown interest in me that I'm pretty sure would normally not go for/flirt with a girl who looks like me. I was relying on these cheap tricks to get me through the dating jungle that I was in the process of tentatively entering, whilst still being dragged down by the voice in the back of my head that was cruelly whispering 'yeah, fine they like you online, but you are still too fat for anyone to fancy you so might as well forget it". It turned out that the cruel, whispering voice could go and suck a fuck.

I arranged a meet up with 'Tom'. Older than me, a mature student in a creative field, in his photos he had a beard and a nice smile and could write in complete sentences. All bonuses. He also passed the test of obviously viewing my profile, taking in the words on said profile, and contacting me with a friendly, direct message that got straight to the point of asking me out. I had previously been conditioned to enduring the 'beating round the bush' game for; often times, years on end, which is not nearly as fun as it sounds. I was nervous as I got off the train to meet him, especially as that pesky cruel whispering head-voice was bothering me, but as soon as Tom and I found each other the voice immediately shut up. We chatted and flirted and I got too drunk and told him more about myself than I was comfortable with. Which may be part of the reason that the best first date I've ever had did not turn into the best relationship I've ever had. In subsequent encounters I was immediately on the back foot, shyer than I normally would be, feeling a little more vulnerable and raw than I would have liked. Which did not encourage a love connection. He also seemed to be an amalgamation of every other guy I'd ever dated, a totally unfair assessment but an off putting one all the same; firstly there's the older than me thing, he had a somewhat complicated and sad past, he was into the sort of obscure music that record geeks love, he knew more than I did about world politics and could talk confidently about it. Previously all these things had attracted me to guys but I was looking for something different this time. I didn't know in what way different but just... not that. None of these traits are bad but they clearly hadn't worked out for me previously and I felt like I'd made all this effort to change myself only to go and repeat the same mistakes with the same type of guy again? No thank you. All of this however is just another example of my fondness for the beating round the bush game: he was (is?) a lovely, interesting, funny person that I got on with really well. But, in the words of everyone's favourite ScarJo movie: I Just Wasn't That Into Him. And I think this is an important lesson to have learned, sometimes the 'on paper' guy who has all the things you've thought you might want is not the guy that is the best match for you. A relationship that works requires plenty of magic sparkle glue that binds and bonds. The magic sparkle glue cannot be manufactured manually, you can't wish it into existence, it's sort of either there or it isn't. In this case, it just wasn't.

Next we have Dick. Dick was... well, I know at the time I enjoyed his company else I wouldn't have gone on five or so dates with him but now, on reflection, I really don't know why. I can look back and go, that was fun, we laughed a lot, he was clever and witty, but that's all struckthrough with a thread that goes 'I also fuckin' hate the guy'. Which is so harsh and so not like me. But it's also so true. My main attraction to Dick (HA!) was that he was a lecturer. I had had the World's Biggest Crush™ on one of my lecturers at university and I had this fantasy of getting to replay that WBC™ with actually fucking the lecturer this time. We'd drink red wine and discuss Foucault by candlelight and maybe I'd go to his office during uni hours and a couple of his students who had a crush on him would see me and be all jealous and I'd be the winner! Of life! And of love! And... it wasn't really like that. I probably, at some point in my life, could have convinced myself I fancied this guy but I now know myself too well and as a result we never even kissed. The fantasy was always just going to be a fantasy (I sort of know now that even if I had got to do things with the aforementioned lecturer I actually fancied then pesky reality would have intruded upon that too. The world in your head will always seem more exotic and exciting than the world you live in, the trouble is the world in your head lacks the one thing that truly makes things interesting or exciting: being real). So, yes, he was never going to win this purely by virtue of the fact that he wasn't a dapper, charming man with dark shaggy hair and an Irish lilt to his accent who could sweep me off my feet and take me away from all this - I don't think that man exists anywhere but in my head to be honest - he was this nerdy, fiercely intelligent, ambitious, tee-total vegetarian that came across as being really angry at the rest of the world. I think that undercurrent of anger I was able to dismiss at the time, but it helps explain why I now look back on my time with him and feel uncomfortable about the whole thing. I felt I was constantly under surveillance, like he was waiting to pick holes in anything I did. Asking him 'what shall we talk about then?' was answered with 'why do you find it so hard to cope with silence'. Reaching in my bag and putting on lipsalve was accompanied by his observation that I 'sure do that a lot'. When he contacted me subsequently to ask if we could be friends and I politely (I thought) declined I got a response made up of multiple paragraphs as to why and how I was wrong to decline ('or, you have in fact just proven my point and removed any ounce of guilt I may have been feeling' I thought). I was able to talk to him, and share things about myself with him, but I never felt fully myself with him and, as shallow as it sounds, I was looking for someone that would go to restaurants with me and share a bottle of wine and happily go for a weekend away with me to a European city. He could do the restaurant thing (always ensuring I paid my half of the bill of course. Which, look, I'm a feminist, I will always offer to pay half but on the first date you're going to have to at least pretend that you're going to pay the bill. Or, if I protest at you covering it all, say 'you can pay next time'. Not look at it and go 'that's £18 for your share I think'. That shit won't fly son, the world is an unfair place and to redress that balance I expect you to offer to pay for our first meal together) but he had never drunk alcohol, never taken drugs, didn't like travelling. All of these things were alien to me. Tom was too similar to what had gone before and Dick was too different. Like Goldilocks I wanted to find someone who was just right.


And find him I did.


Harry. It turned out later that we'd only exchanged messages for a couple of weeks. It felt like much longer. But that's precisely how the relationship developed. It felt like no time at all had passed when I was with him and yet that we had known each other from since the dawn of time. It may be that, now, looking back, I make this narrative that joins he and I together in an all encompassing, unending, eternal love. That our love had always existed and was just waiting for us to discover it eventually. That our first date was a powerful knock to the system and managed to realign the universe into where it should be. That the phrase 'soul mate' was invented solely for us and are the only words that come anywhere close to describing what we have.

Realistically, I'm not sure it was as cut and dry as that. 

Harry and I had an above average first date. We relaxed pretty quickly in each other's company, seemed to share a lot of similar interests, laughed and chatted and were roped into doing an impromptu pub quiz (as is the norm). He gave me the weirdest pecking kiss at the end of the date (and then mimed shooting himself in the head as he walked away, as I was to find out much later) which I interpreted as him not fancying me. This was backed up by it taking him a WHOLE WEEK (one! whole! week!) to text me and ask me out again. By that time I was already on my way to a third date with Tom, had set up my first date with Dick, and was starting to think I would maybe see if there was anyone else out there I could add to my roster. I was also *just* on the verge of texting Harry to tell him I was cool if he didn't want to do the dating thing but was also in this to make friends so would be pretty happy if that was all he wanted. Maybe it was this, the fact that I could see myself being friends with him over and above anything else that started the magic sparkle glue in motion. This just wasn't the case with anyone else I dated - either as one offs or repeatedly - I clicked with other people but didn't necessarily want their friendship and yet with him I did. I mean, it just so happened that I also found him super attractive (but more so from the second date onwards where he was more himself, than on the first when he was on his best behaviour, if that tells you anything) but he was also just a really awesome person that I liked loads and loads. After that second date, where we stayed up till 4am talking (when I asked him 'what shall we talk about then?' he'd reply 'I don't know!' and I'd go 'I don't know either!' and we'd laugh and talk about how rubbish we were at making conversation) and kissing (properly this time) I was pretty much the smittenest kitten that ever existed. I knew in my heart of hearts that he was the one I wanted to be with. There were two things that stood in the way: he had just ended a four year relationship and I didn't want to be rebound girl, and he was potentially moving away.


So continue to date the the other guys I did. As a form of protection if nothing else. I struggled with that decision quite a bit. On one hand it seemed unfair to string other people along if my heart lay with someone else. On the other hand I went into this wanting to see what was out there and let time figure out who would be the best match for me - and that was exactly what I was doing. It seems so obvious what the right choice was now, with the benefit of hindsight, and thankfully I did make the right choice, but at the time I agonised constantly over what was the 'right' thing to do. And I also realised why I had never dated three men at the same time before - I just wasn't cut out for it. It was *too* agonising, and complicated. Plus I was having to be 'ON' all the freaking time. When I discussed with my bestie that I was supposed to be seeing Tom that night but Harry had just asked if I was free and I really wanted to see him instead her advise was; 'well I don't fucking know, I wouldn't get myself into this situation in the first place'. (I saw Tom, I didn't want to be the sort of girl that broke dates if a better offer came along).


This was a path I would have to navigate alone clearly. I decided to trust in time to reveal the way to go. And it did.


After Harry's and mine forth date I only saw Tom again to break up with him using the tired, sad excuse in between that I was busy (which I was, just dating another guy). On Harry and's and mine fifth date I introduced him to the wonders of cheap red wine made drinkable by the addition of cola (which is also my fav summer drink) and finally confessed to Harry I was seeing other people and he confessed to me he'd already had a rebound fling and what we were doing was in no way that in his eyes. This, as far as I was concerned, removed one of the obstacles from our path so tumble deeper down the rabbit hole I fell. On our sixth date he took me out for dinner (and paid!) and said I should continue to date the other guys until we'd gotten to ten dates. We laughed about this being like the plot to 40 Year Old Virgin ('except no way am I a virgin!') whilst both feeling weirdly sad about the idea. BUT, this in itself convinced me that he was in this for me and was willing to put his wants to one side to ensure I was happy. I knew how that worked the other way round but not someone doing that for me. I admit a swooned a little. The night before Harry's and mine seventh date I went out with Dick for the final time and kept going to the loo to check Harry's facebook page. This was where I realised I was stringing people along and needed to stop (and was also worried Dick would start to think I had bowel problems). The following night, on our seventh date I told Harry I didn't want to date anyone else, he told me he didn't want me to date anyone else either and that he was going to stay here and not move away. The magic sparkle glue sighed happily and we went about the business of getting on with the rest of our lives. Together.

"Real love doesn't make you act crazy. The reason we act crazy when we are infatuated is because we want it to be real so badly -- we want to jump over the distance of time that makes real love what it is... That's the trick of romance: The crazy infatuation love is so much brighter and turns so many more corners so quickly. Much more exciting than the real thing. But real love, at its finest, makes you feel like you are bursting open, like this: Like hearing a beautiful song, or reading a beautiful poem, or hearing a wonderful story, and the tears come and you don't know precisely why. It doesn't hurt; it hurts in a way that isn't hurting, that we don't have a word for. Largeness. Enormity. It takes a real strength, a real grace, to stand up straight in the face of that. Especially if you're not familiar with it."

          ~ Jacob Clifton