… and I didn’t even notice. Here’s what happened. I was having a sandwich with a dear friend when three guys walked past. I wasn’t paying much attention, so I didn’t get a good look at them. Once they were gone, my pal grinned and said, “That boy wants you.” Huh? Who what where? “The one in the blue shirt. He was staring at you.” Of course by then I could only see his backside, so I shrugged it off and went on with my sandwich. The thing is … it bothered me a lot more than it should have.
See, I’m what you call unlucky in love. Things didn’t work out with my baby’s dad. It was an abusive relationship, and I’ve had a string of bad liaisons ever since. Let’s just say me and the guys I was seeing weren’t after the same thing. I’m at that point where I’ve mostly given up on love and let my life revolve around my daughter.
My problems with guys started way before my baby was born. It took me a while to accept it, but I’d like to think that I’m the full package. I’m pretty, smart, I have ‘natural hair’ (dreads count, right?), an okay figure, a double-D chest, financial stability, and a great singing voice. I also have a strange sense of humour, I can be warm and personable, and I don’t mind paying bills.
Of course I’m also extremely introverted, rather anti-social, utterly undomestic, alarmingly hypersensitive, erratically moody, and not particularly fond of blowjobs. And I don’t, drink, smoke, fly, or party, so I suppose some people might find me boring. Despite all this, or maybe because of it, I seem to attract the wrong kind of guy.
I only get hit on by makangas, mboches, watchmen, bus conductors, construction workers, bosses, married men, and elderly relatives. Not once have I been approached by a ‘normal’ guy. In the past, I resolved the issue by asking them out myself, but that rarely ended well. Guys like a challenge, so while they’ll tap anything that comes at them, they won’t take it very seriously once they’ve hit it.
Back to yesterday. We were in a fairly posh part of town, a place I don’t generally go to. So having a nice ‘high-class’ dude notice me was quite a novelty. A huge part of me wished I’d noticed him noticing me, given him a smile, some encouragement, and possibly my number. But things don’t always work out that way. I wondered loudly how many hot guys had walked away from me simply because I didn’t see them. They probably looked, smiled, and when I didn’t respond, they assumed I wasn’t available, or wasn’t interested.
I suppose I could argue that if they had really wanted me, they’d have taken a chance and made a move. But even lion[esse]s survey the whole herd before singling out an easy target to pursue. Granted, guys love a challenge, but if you don’t look catchable, the hungry boy isn’t likely to chase you. Pun intended. Unless of course the impossible chase is the whole point, in which case there’s probably money involved, and you don’t want to be on the wrong end of a bet.
A part of me thinks guys are intimidated by my … self-reliance. But then again, a lot of women think that. Doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true. A guy that I … knew … said it’s not my independence that keeps guys away. It’s my vulnerability. He says a needy woman makes guys run for the hills. After they’ve tapped it. A different guy I … knew … said he kept off because he didn’t think he could afford me. He said I do everything for myself, so one, he didn’t see where he fit in, and two, he couldn’t match my standards for myself. A third opinion said I was simply too proud and arrogant to keep a man.
I don’t know which opinion – if any – was right. And it makes me wonder why the makangas, mjengo workers, and sugar daddies don’t feel the same away. I suppose I could be blowing this whole thing out of proportion. The pretty boy in blue may simply have been leering at my chest. Or the sandwich I was eating. Or the supermodel behind me. I guess I’ll never really know. But it does feel good to know that for that one moment, on that one day, a pretty boy (with a really expensive watch) was looking at me.
♫ Stranded ♫ Jeniffer Paige ♫