You’re Still Here?

What do you do when a guy just won’t leave?  I don’t mean in a threatening, aggressive way; but when you’ve had a good time and that good time is drawing to a close….and they just…. won’t …. leave.

I’m one of those “personal space” girls.  I like my alone time.  I like my space.  I don’t like someone being in my space for too long without a moderate dating warm-up.  In fact, if I spend too much time with someone at first, I start to feel claustrophobic and may or may not develop hives.  Last weekend, I met a guy who didn’t give me a choice.

My friend’s boyfriend threw her a birthday party and in return for my presence, he brought me a present in the form of his friend from Australia.  The Aussie and I chatted about morality and philosophy, yoga and the amazing brunch places in my neighborhood…all things I could talk about ad nauseum.  Of course, I was hooked. 

We had a great time and in the morning, I made him coffee and listened to him dissertate on the migration patterns in Australia.  Because that’s normal pre-hairbrush, morning-after conversation.  My roommate, meanwhile, was trying to make her oatmeal and pretend she couldn’t smell the previous night seeping out our pores.  She eventually took her breakfast outside without saying a word.

We talked for about an hour (much longer than the requisite “how long do I have to stay to be respectful”) and once the conversation began to lull, I assumed he’d take the opportunity to say, “Well, thank you for a lovely time, I’m going to head back to my buddy’s place.”

Instead, he said, “Well, you want to go to brunch?”

“Uh, sure?”  I was caught completely off-guard.  “Mind if I shower first?”

“Not at all.”

It was a beautiful day so we wandered on Market Street, took an outdoor seat at a café and proceeded to indulge in a very heavy breakfast while becoming friends on Facebook and taking in the sights the Castro has to offer (namely, naked gay men).  When we finished, we promptly slipped into the gentle bliss of a hazy food coma. 

I thought for sure, this was it.  I thought the bill would be paid, we would hug goodbye, we would go our separate ways and never speak again.

“So, what do you have going on the rest of the day?”  Huh?

“Um, well, I’m supposed to help my friend shop for a dress, then I’m going to go to yoga, then I have a birthday party.” 

“Well, maybe I’ll join you at yoga.”  Ok, so I wasn’t really planning on going to yoga.  I was just saying it because it sounded good. 

“Um, yea!  I mean, if you want to, you should totally come with me.”  Or not.  You could just as easily go home and pass out, right?  Doesn’t sleep sound better? 

“Ok, yea, I’ll just go back, pass out for a few and then meet you at your place at 4.”  Oh man, really?  Aren’t you sick of me yet?  I’m sick of me and I live with me.

“Ok, that sounds good.”  I hate my life.

I went home, did laundry and convinced myself he wouldn’t call.  I figured he’d sleep through the class, or lie and say he slept through class; but as I laid down for a 20 minute power nap I got a text message.

“I’m on my way!  Meet you at your place?”

Who is this guy?

I pulled myself from my bed, put on my only clean workout clothes and dragged my feet the three blocks to the yoga class, which really should have been the end of it. 

Going to yoga with someone you don’t know that well, but with whom you’ve been romantically involved, is nothing more than an awkward experience.  You’re slippery, sometimes struggling (someone always grunts) and you can see them out of the corner of your eye, so it’s almost impossible to concentrate.  And then there’s the uncomfortable moment of when you’re forced into each other’s space because of a pose and you fumble and avoid each other’s eyes.  It’s a mess.

At the end of class, we collected our belongings without acknowledging the other and made our way out of the room, him to the changing room, me to the lobby.  Here I waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  To the point where I wondered, “Was I supposed to wait?  Is he hiding out in the changing room till I leave?  That’s what I would do.”

Finally, he appeared and we walked out of the studio together.  I assumed that now, we would shake hands (we were too sweaty to hug), I would put him in a cab or on a bus, and that would be the end of it.

 “So do you mind if I shower at your place?”  I tripped.

“Um, sure.  Yea, no problem.”   Doesn’t your friend miss you?

We go back to my place, he showers, then I shower, and I come back to my room and he’s just chilling on my bed, reading a magazine.  Totally comfortable.  Like it’s no big deal. 

“So, did you talk to your friend?”

“No, I should call him.”  Good idea.

I go into my closet to get ready and overhear this part of his conversation:

“No worries man, I’m just going to hang out here.”  W-T-F. 

I was completely depleted.  All I wanted to do was make a bowl of rice with soy sauce and lay down on my bed and sleep for days.  But I couldn’t because there was a giant kangaroo in my bed.  And apparently he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

I stood at the foot of my bed trying to figure out what the heck to do.  Do I lay down next to him?  Is that going to lead to something I don’t have the energy to finish?  What if I start talking to my purse, will he leave then?  What if he doesn’t and I have to keep the act up all night?  God, I’m hungry.  Am I supposed to make him dinner now?

After five minutes of fidgeting, I finally lay down next to him on my bed and pretended to read a magazine.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes, I’m starving.”

“You wanna go get dinner?”  Ok, but then you have to go home.  I need to sleep tonight, in my bed, by myself.

We went to dinner…and then dessert, and then as he was making plans to catch up with another buddy for a drink, he asks, “You wanna come with us for a drink?” 

Good God, NO.  I’m so tired I can barely stand and I have the mental capacity of a four year old.  I absolutely, DO NOT want to drink alcohol, or meet anyone new, or drink alcohol while meeting anyone new.  I’m not even sure why I’m still here.  Or where “here” is.  Somebody help me.

“Um, it’s Sunday.”

Thankfully, that really was the end of it.  We walked back to my place, he picked up his backpack full of sweaty clothes, and kissed me goodbye and then left my apartment for good.  That night I was so happy to be in my bed, by myself, I almost cried—sometimes a girl just needs a little space. 

But then I woke up and the first thing I thought was, “I wonder how his night was.”


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