I am, after all, Exceptional!

I believed it.  Pretty much every time. 

"I'm really busy."

Poor sad, busy man, so overwhelmed with... life... that giving him his space would be just so, understanding.

Sure, okay... so many of us are into being so busy we are too busy to add much more, seems to make logical sense.  I am a logical, understanding, nice woman, I get it.  

Then my bubble of justification bursts as I remember what that darned book's author said.

Greg Behrendt, author of "He's Just Not That Into You" has written:

“I'm about to make a wild, extreme and severe relationship rule: the word busy is a load of crap and is most often used by assholes. The word "busy" is the relationship Weapon of Mass Destruction. It seems like a good excuse, but in fact in every silo you uncover, all you're going to find is a man who didn't care enough to call. Remember men are never too busy to get what they want.”

Makes ya think.  Makes me think.  And how clearly I am able to recall so many quotes and lines from that reality check manuscript.

Essentially, Greg and his book have ruined my life.

Like so many girls growing up in the liberating 60's and 70's, I was taught by my dear mother that I am exceptional.  The logic was clearly reinforced by all those blasted Disney movies, holding on for Prince Charming even though little Suzie might be under dressed or shabby, the good-hearted girl will get her good knight!

But Greg slaps me, and all other women, to reality with the harsh words that most likely I am the rule and not the exception.  That most likely the reason Mr. Could-Be-Right hasn't called is NOT because business is so prosperous or that long distance running endurance training is so rigorous that he just was not able to find the time to call or visit or have sex (in between golf games with the guys) -- he simply "just isn't that into you."

Eventually, smart (if not exceptional) women like me finally do realize it is time to open up the space he had been emptily inhabiting, for a new man.  Go out and pursue another opportunity to be simply adored!  "Don't waste the pretty!"  (Thanks, Greg.)


But then, just as the ink has dried on a date invitation for Saturday night, the ass comes back and says, "I miss you."

(Yeah, you miss me so much that you are calling me on your way to meet the guys for a beer.)

It is so sweet, hearing those words, hearing that voice again, feeling that fit, that familiarity, that comfort.

So tempting.   



Ladies!  Warning!  DON'T get stuck here, in this dead space of  thinking he is just about to realize what a mistake he has made.... Greg might just be right!  If he thought he made a mistake, he would be knocking down your door making sure no one else has moved in.

Responsibilities with work, kids, sports, church, the farm animals, the weeds in the garden, the ever so popular required golf games, they all have priority in life.  I do understand the true importance of having to do a job, having to make money to pay for bills, having to show up for things, for events, for parties, and to clean things (like your car or lawnmower), log running miles and buy groceries (milk and beer and little fake chicken pieces in the shape of race cars).  All these things should not, however, ALWAYS be a priority over you. 

Thus, here is the clincher, the true point of my blog today -- directed at you, my female reader, my daughters, my co-workers, my friends, MY SELF....  As you sit waiting for that Disney kiss to awaken you, for the white horse, for the carriage, for the man climbing a fire escape with flowers instead of catching his flight out of town (insert any movie fairy tale b.s. here), you may be MISSING the real catch, the real love of your life right in front of you (do you see him?  he's the one bearing gifts and promises of back rubs and sweet kisses!).  I am not saying you ARE, I am just sayin' maybe.

Obviously this blog is a sarcastic tribute to my life as a single woman.

I can say with unusual certainty that it sucks to love a man, to choose a man, and then not to BE chosen.

Greg and his book present a mighty fine argument to we women who are waiting for the light of realization to come on in our man's head.

“...what I can do is paint you a picture of what you’ll never see when you’re with a guy who’s really into you: You’ll never see you staring maniacally at your phone, willing it to ring. You’ll never see you ruining an evening with friends because you’re calling for your messages every fifteen seconds. You’ll never see you hating yourself for calling him when you know you shouldn’t have. What you will see is you being treated so well that no phone antics will be necessary. You’ll be too busy being adored.” 

Sounds right.  Makes sense.  I hear the echo of those words repeating, daily... a man would rather be trampled by elephants than admit he's just not that into you. 

~ Tell the heart whom to love, though. ~

As naive as I feel saying it, we -- I -- will probably continue to hold on hope for true love to reign, for all my days of caring to matter, for him to come pattering back...

...for that exception to the rule to finally... be me.