Last month, I met an interesting boy. Interesting, because he seemed interested (#highstandards). Whilst making small-talk, I mentioned my blog; intrigued, he requested a link. I happily obliged. Chit chat chitatty chat, voilà, he asks for my number. I happily obliged and mentally high-fived myself.
The next day, I watched with satisfaction as my blog stats exploded. Clearly, he was reading my entire blog, twice.
I reconsidered that: he’d read my entire blog. Twice. Therefore, he had read about my dating disasters, including, but not limited to, my involuntary spin as the Other Woman and the ensuing baggage; my tendencies to overthink and argue; my smooth social skills. Dejected, I resigned myself to the inevitable: I’d never hear from him again.
To my surprise, he called the following evening. Called, not texted. Full points to him!
We had a nice chat, covered a variety of topics, including his impression of my blog. I viewed this as a sign from the Universe: I should not assume that any guy reading my blog would be scared away. Tentative plans were made to meet up for a coffee. I was most pleased.
Three weeks later, and I haven’t heard a peep from him. I can hear the Universe snickering at me.
I mentioned this unfortunate turn of events to a few friends. While the opinions ranged from “no white guy will ever want to date you, now that you have advertised your penchant for chocolate; you’ve intimidated them all away” (really? really?! are white boys’ egos that fragile?) to “you’re so brave!!” (the kind of compliment that suspiciously sounds like an insult) to “if a guy can’t accept you for who you are, he isn’t worth your time” (thanks, Dr. Phil – loneliness always feels better when coated in self-righteousness), the consensus was that my blog would impact my dating life. In fact, there was a general surprise that I hadn’t foreseen this consequence of blogging, or as my father calls it, navel-gazing.
During this period of self-reflection, my friend Nene contemplated starting a blog of his own. I warned him of the potential negative side-effects of a blog on his love life. He considered this, but figured the impact would be minimal, as his own Twitter feed was already limiting the pool of lucky gals that could date him: “I can’t respect the opinion of someone who doesn’t like Seinfeld and the Wu-Tang Clan.” 95% of the female population, eliminated, by that simple tweet.
He thought over my blog content, and added his helpful bit to the general opinion: “You’re either going to end up with a black guy… or a guy who can’t read.”