Once again, dear readers, yours truly has been shot down over the battlefield of romance (mind you, with the door left open for consideration), but for once I have received a long overdue dose of assessment with the perishing in flames, an assessment that I appreciate: the lady in question — who several months ago originally broached the subject of us possibly hooking up in the first place — says that after careful thought, she equates me with comfort rather than excitement.
As I tried to maintain some semblance of dignity as I sank into sadness and disappointment, I realized that I do represent comfort to many of the women in my life; whether as a sounding board, sympathetic ear, “old comfy couch.” or just plain old emotional tampon, I must send out that comfort vibe like an industrial strength pheremone.
It’s all well and good to make people feel welcome and at ease, but enough with that! I can name many lovely women who I have known who have told me to my face that prior to being married/divorced/generally mistreated that I would have had little or no chance with them whatsoever, but once they have been through the wringer they tell me that they erred by not looking at me from another angle. I know that’s true, but I’m tired of it. However, I will give the woman who had the honesty to say it to my face points for candor. I’m not mad at her at all, just saddened, and once more a bit wiser, but at least I tried to put it out there. And as flaws that render one undateworthy go, being a comfortable nurturer could be a lot worse.
Oh, well… Time to live up to my own oft-given advice to others: when faced with rejection, just say the magic word, namely “NEXT!”