Do y’all remember Preston? The guy with the suicidal dog? The guy I was with when the cops got called on our date because of the previously mentioned suicidal dog? Well, guess who got in touch with me a few months ago?
You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure that one out, do you?
A week before the Super Bowl, my phone indicated I had a text message. Imagine my surprise to find it was Preston. Actually, it wasn’t a big surprise. He’d been texting me off and on since summer, though with the exception of one Sunday afternoon in August, nothing ever went beyond the “Hey, how are you?” texts. That one Sunday afternoon though, the texts got pretty serious.
In a previous text session between Preston and myself, I learned he had asked his (then) girlfriend to marry him. So during our texting in August, I asked how things were between him and his fiancee. Based on his answer, Preston ended up getting my armchair therapist persona when I’m pretty sure all he was looking for was some sexting.
Without going into the whole, convoluted story, it basically came down to me telling Preston that this was the woman he was going to marry, that people rarely change once they’re married, and if things weren’t going as he wanted them to, he had a choice to either accept what was and live with it, or to leave if he was truly unhappy. Life is too short to be unhappy, nor was it fair to him or the fiancee to go ahead and get married only to divorce a short time later because things had reached an unbearable/unforgivable point.
Six months later (January), when I caught up with Preston again, I learned his best friend also gave him the same advice I had within days of our conversation. And ultimately, Preston left the relationship, taking only his personal belongings and his dog (new dog, not the suicidal one) with him.
I also learned something about myself.
Around Preston, I am the WORSE possible version of myself possible.
I’ve come to the realization that because I find Preston so incredibly attractive, my insecurities rise and my self-confidence goes straight into the negatives when I’m around him.
And it’s not just his looks I’m attracted to. Preston is smart and funny, charming and a good conversationalist, and yes, very physically attractive. In short, he’s the whole package.
Except for the fact that he’s also a serial monogamist with a side of cheater.
function: noun
one who spends as little time as possible being single, moving from the end of one relationship to the beginning of a new relationship as quickly as possible
one who spends as little time as possible being single, moving from the end of one relationship to the beginning of a new relationship as quickly as possible
Thank you, Urban Dictionary.
Preston has a tendency to enter into the beginning of the end of a relationship when he finds his attention wandering to other women and the attention leads him to cheating, which in turn leads him into breaking off one relationship and quickly slipping into another, usually with the woman he cheated on the previous woman with.
In Preston’s defense, this isn’t quite the way his last relationship ended, though there was some cheating involved (technically).
It’s also for this reason I’ve never envisioned a relationship between Preston and myself. Well, that and my incredible lack of self-confidence just being around him.
I (possibly over) analyze every little thing Preston says. For example, he asked if I had anywhere else to be the last time we saw each other. My response was an immediate, “No, I’ve got zero plans this weekend (sadly, true), but if you have something better to do or you need me to leave, I can.”
Better to do… Normally I’d say there’s no one better than me to hang out with, to maybe have a beer with (me <– still not a beer drinker), whatever. But when you’re insecure to begin with and you’re being asked by a ridiculously good looking guy if you have plans, your thoughts tend to stray and get mired in “there is no way this guy wants to hang out with ME!” territory. I couldn’t understand why I was even in Preston’s apartment, let alone why he would consider spending an evening in my company.
As Danielle LaPorte says in one of her (infamous, glorious) #Truthbombs: Too much analysis can create paralysis.
Yet….
I (figuratively) grabbed myself by the boobs and decided to ask. Although I’m sure I’d have gotten a reaction if I’d literally grabbed them, too.
To backtrack for just a moment, I should mention from the moment I walked in the door, Preston had been on his phone using Facebook and texting someone he later admitted was a girl his co-worker put him in contact with.
You have to admire his honesty, really. No, really. Think about it.
Also… serial monogamy, right there.
Digressing.
Kinda.
You missed this, didn’t you?
Again, backing up to an hour or so before I figuratively began grabbing myself by the boobs… Preston handed me his phone to show me something on Facebook. I admired whatever it was he was showing me, and then in work mode, I quickly “liked” a restaurant page I do social media for. Somewhat ironically, Preston had previously lived around the corner from said resturant and it was one of the three restaurants he and the ex had frequented as a default.
“What are you doing?” Preston asked, somewhat panicked. “I hate when girls….”
“Relax, Preston. I simply liked The Restaurant from your phone. The page needs more fans.” I paused for a moment.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. No need to panic about explaining to your friends why you’re friends with the fat ugly chick on Facebook.”
“Oh.” No denial that that’s what he was worried about.
So anyways… grabbing my boobs (figuratively)…
… and I started heading for the door. I threw on my coat, grabbed my purse (literally, not figuratively) and was slipping on my boots when Preston asked, “Where are you going?”
“Home.” Boots on, hand on doorknob.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t figure out why I’m here, Preston. Why am I here?”
“What? What do you mean, why are you here? Aren’t you having fun?”
“No, not really.”
His eyes grew wide. “Really?”
“Really. You’ve been your phone the whole time I’ve been here, and I still can’t figure out why you even talk to me!” Ooops. Let a little too much slip right there.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
Shish kabob. There is nothing worse than having to explain your insecurities in blinding detail. “Really? You need me to explain it to you?”
“Yeah.” Ugh. Guys and their simple mindedness.
“Um… so I’ve always wondered why you talk to the short, unattractive fat girl,” I mumbled.
“Mo, take off your coat and sit down.”
Pushover that I am, I did.
“You have really got to get some self confidence, you know that right?” It was a rhetorical question but I decided to answer it anyways.
“What do I have to be confident about? I’m fat, unattractive, too smart for my own good….”
“You’re not unattractive,” Preston interrupted.
“What?”
“You’re not unattractive. You’re also funny, smart, I enjoy talking with you, you’re very open minded, and you’re a sweetheart. But….”
“But we’re not getting into a relationship, I know.” It was my turn to interrupt him. “I made that decision the first night we met.”
“You did?” The surprise was evident.
“I did. You admitted you’d cheated on past girlfriends. My ex cheated on me. I’m not going to willingly subject myself to that again.”
Well, that and I later realized… I am the worse possible version of myself when I’m around him.
Monique…. This. Just this. This is why you shine like a beacon in the night. This is why you make my spirit soar when we talk. This is why you are the precious soul that you are. This. Honesty, insight, humor, and yes, vulnerability. You are the type of person I want to be. Again, this. Thank you for writing and confirming all that I already knew about you. And for the other stuff we silently spoke of…. That too is important. I’m so glad I know you. If that was the worst version of yourself… Then even your worst is admirable. I wish you could see yourself as others see you. Just for a moment. You’d be in awe of the love and pure joy we feel when around you.