It’s the dating story I tell most often: It was a few years ago and I’d been going out on dates 3, 4, sometimes even 5 nights a week for months and yet somehow no one seemed to make it past the 3rd or 4th date. And I wasn’t being picky. Really, I wasn’t.
A friend from work came up to me in the hall and asked me how my date was last night. It was a running joke. There was always a date last night.
I told her that is was great, actually. He was smart, attractive, fun, we had lots to talk about and plenty of chemistry. The only thing was, I’d never be able to trust him. She gave me an odd look and I explained that he was an obvious womanizer, I could smell it on him (He did have the best line I’d ever heard, “I want to fall in love again”. I nearly fell off my barstool.)
So she said, too bad, I guess you won’t be seeing him again. The logical conclusion. And I told her, no, I probably would. And I did.
He and I dated for months. It was a disaster. A predictable disaster. What possessed me? I knew, from the first date, what he was. I knew he was lying to me when he said he wanted a relationship. I knew he was lying to me all of the time.
Well, in my defense, if I have any at all, is that I wanted so desperately for it to be true that I was willing to suspend my disbelief and play along. At least for a little while. Until it became too painful. Until his lies became too blatant and too frequent and I couldn’t play along anymore without losing the last bit of my self respect.
Tags: dating dysfunction, self respect, work