So, who remembers that very forgettable song from the early-to-mid aughts? “I’ll keep you my dirty little secret, don’t tell anyone or you’ll be just another regret…”. By the All-American Rejects? Yeah, that song–I hadn’t thought of that song for years either, until today. And that sucks, because the context of my remembering it is just as you’d imagine it would be.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am someone’s dirty little secret, or was (more accurately)–and that point was driven home today, so thoroughly, that it will be etched on my psyche for, at least, the foreseeable future. And you all thought that it was just another Saturday. Let me explain how the not too distant past can come back out of the beautiful, blue sky and wallop the crap out of your happy ass–even when you have completely and utterly moved on from that person (it was years ago, for Christ’s sake).
A while back (not too long ago–I was over 35), I engaged in a sexual friendship with a man who I believed to be someone who I could quite possibly end up dating. I was wrong. Very, very wrong. Sure, he enjoyed having sex with me–more than enjoyed, if I’m being honest, and seemed to value the skills that my past had allowed me to bring to the table.
He did not, however, have any intention at any time of dating me or allowing our relationship to become romantic. He acted like a boyfriend–he paid for dinners out, opened/held doors for me, held hands, kissed me goodnight after dates, called and texted everyday–all of the things one would expect from a guy who had at least checked out a Dating 101 column in a Men’s Health or something. He was a very good and very proper date–who never once, in all the time we were together, ever believed that I was even remotely good enough for him–not even a little bit.
Now, I’m not the most beautiful woman in the world, but I’m squarely in the category of beautiful (or so I’ve been told). And because most of you reading this know what I look like–I won’t belabor the point.
It shouldn’t matter anyway. If you have ever been told that you aren’t good enough, you know what I mean. For real, if you want to feel about as bad about yourself that you can feel–have someone tell you that you are not good enough for them. It will torpedo your day. Thoroughly.
So, yeah–that happened. I’m officially over myself. Again. Years after the fact. Totally over myself. Thanks for that?
ealvfargond 