So, I posted my manifesto about how I am ready to show vulnerability here. I’m ready for the feels. Feels, I’m coming after you. Except I think I went after the wrong feels. I thought I was pursuing the happy, exciting feels; instead I ended up with the embarrassed feels.
In my latest attempt at resuscitating my dating life, I invited Beaut over for supper. This was significant. My inability to cook has been well documented (here). When my BFF Dynamo heard of my plans to cook for a guy, he was pissed. 7 years of friendship, and I’d never invited Dynamo over, using the excuse that I valued his friendship too much to risk poisoning it and him with salmonella. Dynamo called the rest of our posse and invited them over to my place for a Holiday Supper in December. As he put it, “friends before dicks” (clever wordplay on the universal wisdom “chicks before dicks”), except that he preferred to wait until after my supper date to find out whether or not Beaut survived. Just in case.
I’m not gonna lie, I was stressed leading up to that supper. I wanted to put together a menu that would respect Beaut’s dietary restrictions (Honestly. What happened to the good ol’ days where allergies, intolerances and pickinesses just didn’t exist?! Beaut doesn’t like avocadoes!!! I almost rescinded my invitation when I found out. I have standards, you know. I will NOT be friends with someone who does not like avocadoes. Unless he is hot and he makes me laugh and returns my text messages. Obvi.) Not only that, but I wanted the chosen menu to be tasty and something I could produce without burning down my home.
I didn’t burn my home down. But it was close. I dropped a knife, nearly amputating a toe; I ran around my appartment forgetting what I was looking for (kinda like a dog chasing its own tail); and mysteriously a cover on one of the pots fell off with a conversation-ending loud bang.
I didn’t poison Beaut. That’s a win right there. However, I suspect he left my place, went directly to McDonald’s and ate a trio. He didn’t say that was what he would do, but I have my suspicions. You see, during supper I discovered that Beaut has excellent manners.
In my panic-stricken hysterical state, I’d forgotten to change my playlist prior to Beaut’s arrival – I had it set to my favorite set of pop songs, in an attempt to calm myself down while prepping for supper. A playlist that most tweens would dig. To my horror, mid-appetizer, Taylor Swift’s Love Story started playing. I surreptitiously changed it to the next song – which happened to be Taylor Swift’s You Belong With Me. Red faced, I changed the song again, and of course, it happened to be an angry Kelly Clarkson breakup song. Praying to the music gods, I changed songs one last time, and relaxed when I saw it was an Adele song. I tried to laugh off the disaster, and Beaut reassured me that he hadn’t even noticed the music – as long as there was something playing in the background, and the conversation was interesting, the music didn’t matter. I relaxed somewhat. But not enough to think of anything to say. Of course, at that moment, the Verve Pipe’s Freshman song started playing. Beaut blinked, “What’s that?” That, sir, is one of the best songs for angsty white teens suffering from pentup emotion regarding a life event most will hopefully never experience (abortion/suicide) – clearly a demographic I can relate to, because I am very mature for my age.
Once again, Beaut tried to reassure me that my musical taste was irrelevant – he was having fun. I had almost started to believe him when a Carlos Santana song began, and Beaut involuntarily exclaimed, “Now THAT is a good song!”
BUT WAIT. Later, Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car played. BEAUT DIDN’T KNOW THE SONG OR THE ARTIST. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?!?!
That’s RIGHT. I’m judging you, bro. My taste in music is eclectic. Also? I LIKE AVOCADOES. So there.
P.S. I refuse to acknowledge the similarities between this story and Strawberry’s Bieber-fiasco.