A friend and I were having a conversation about our attempts to find “the one.” Not “the two,” not “the three,” but “the ONE.” This, of course, followed stories of our various attempts (amusing, surprising, and downright mortifying), all in the hopes of finding someone who fits each of our criteria.
She mentioned a few categories of men, including “‘object of my worldly lust’ or ‘that guy I kind of like’ or ‘he’s kind of endearing’ or ‘oh my dear God I want you in multiple ways’.” This got me thinking, what have the men in my life amounted to?
Oh, let’s see, I wasn’t properly kissed until I was 20, and even that, I would say, was questionable, because, although he was charming, he was an Italian man of indeterminate age who took me up to the Gianicolo (the Roman version of makeout mountain) and promptly proceeded to flirt and lay one on me. I had no idea what was up. I was naive enough to think it wasn’t even a date! Bad choices. Luckily, that all ended there. In short, don’t talk to random Italians on the street and don’t take a ride on the back of their motorini.
The other rather inappropriate physical contact was at a Roman salsa club. A large, possibly Cuban, man started dancing with me. He was harmless at first, albeit a bit weird. He would try to have me put my hands on his face. This should have hinted me to run away. No, I kept dancing. That only made him think I was into him, apparently, because I kept turning away when I thought he was trying to kiss me, and eventually, he licked me! From collarbone to ear. Can you say “gross!”? Right after that dance, I ran to my friend and begged him to hide me. I need to start screening my dance partners.
Somehow, Rome brought out the flirt in me. Other than that, a guy I semi-asked-out turned out to be gay. He’s a great guy, but I worry that every guy I like, even a little, will be gay. This worries me. Somehow, I don’t think it’s going to be a HUGE problem, because I have mostly Bible Study friends, but you never know. Other men, men I can’t have, can be downright charming. And this, this perhaps, is where I get into trouble.
So, returning to the idea of “the one,” I’m far from finding him. I figure he’s out there somewhere, and until then, I’ll have to be satisfied with wildly entertaining and embarrassing stories from my past. I think that what’s most evident here is my bad choices. I need to work on those.