Mug That I Am
December 4, 2012 § 96 Comments
From yesterday’s Times (sorry so late in the day; I thought it was Monday. Clearly losing my marbles. Various “life events” – dread expression – are doing my head in. See below):-
My default setting when it comes to romantic arrangements is always to presume the worst. So when the Younger Twinkle doesn’t contact me between our meetings, I automatically conclude he finds me repellent and never wants to see me again.
I tend to avoid crap books (life’s too short) but last week, a million years after everyone else, I read He’s Just Not That Into You, and every line sung to me. It’s not really a book. It’s pages of repetitive brainwash but, dare I say it, maddeningly compelling. I was a gibbering wreck at the end. I thought, I envy and hate men for their capacity for empty intimacy (how can it be so meaningless to them, and I am not just talking about sex)? And I hate myself for still being the mug I ever was in my stupid youth. All those excuses I made as to why “he” hadn’t rung. And still make, dammit. This weekend it was classic: maybe he got caught up in a flood? What is remarkable to me, for all my hard-earned wisdom, I am deep-down no different from my brainless teenage self. Wrinkles have failed to eviscerate the wrong-headedness.
I suppose I had it coming to me, dabbling with a YT. What did I expect? Well, not flowers or chocolates or dinners or time, but maybe the odd text offering some sort of continuum between our heartening get-togethers, texting being the oxygen of the generation beneath my own. It wasn’t as if I picked up a hench young stranger in a bar, got wasted on dry martinis and went back to his black-furnished flat and imagined it would happen a second time. Then I would really have had it coming to me. No, I was reasonably sensible and cautious (in that respect – burnt too many times – I have changed, a bit). I actually got to know the decent YT over a period of months. For most of that time it didn’t even cross my mind to think of him in a romantic way, any more than it would have done to have had untoward thoughts about a woman whom I had just cause regularly to see. It was, more, a slow dawning.
And when the notion that he might be Interested first consciously struck me, I thought, Couldn’t be! Am I out of my mind? But I wasn’t, it seemed, and it happened, and it was possibly one of the more validating and wonderful things that has happened to me in years.
Just not validating and wonderful enough for him, obviously, between times, to merit throwing me the odd crumb, in the form of a few kindly texts.