Is it just me, or does it feel like curving season out here?
I don’t think I’m asking for too much when I say I want to live in the middle of a Jill Scott love (and lust) song — thick, swaying hips, with a man even thicker who tastes like chilled brown liquor. Or in the middle of a movie Oprah has something to do with, starring a southern accented Sandra Bullock and narrated by Halle Berry: He drank the entire glass of lemonade I fresh-squeezed that morning and used my grandmother’s recipe and drank it down like he’d never quenched his thirst before and he took the ice from the glass and sucked on it, and then rubbed it over his bare chest, leaving lucky droplets of water to worship his god-like physique slowly as they crashed to their death.
Am I asking for too much to want to live in a Dwayne Wayne and Whitley Gilbert romance of unlikely, but undoubtedly true love? There’s no shortage when it comes to the amount of men I meet; however, one complaint that’s been annoyingly sticking around for quite some time now is the amount of men who actively pursue me with dates, quality time and consistent interest and connection. Let me just say that number is few and far between.
After talking to many of my amazing and single friends, I am starting to feel as though a woman’s emotions and desire to connect with someone with the intention of building something together is frivolous for most men. Either they flee at the sight of something they don’t like, or they don’t put forth the effort to breed consistency. It’s one of the most frustrating parts of dating–trying to start something.
I’ll tell you right now, I am going through my own personal curving season.
I met a white guy at Whole Foods–I know, what could be more cliché? Because I live in New York and I’m a writer, I have two roommates. One of my roommates always buys one particular type of seasoning, which I have started using and am now obsessed with. I used all of it, so I needed to buy him a new bottle. When I asked him where to get it, he told me Whole Foods. I sighed, rolled my eyes and headed to Whole Foods–a complete inconvenience, but so was me selfishly using all of his seasoning.
I got to the overpriced grocery store, found the seasoning and headed towards the check out. As I curiously sauntered around the shelves and grocery carts filled with organic, gluten- and cage-free everything, I heard someone faintly say, “Excuse me.” I didn’t think it was for me, so I kept sauntering.
Then the voice was louder and closer to me, “Excuse me, miss?”
I turned around. A very cute white guy was standing near me. I smiled at him and kept looking at way too pricey grocery items.
“Your hair is beautiful,” the cutie said to me.
I turned to him again, “Oh, thank you!” I smiled, touched my hair and kept looking at groceries.
“You’re welcome. You’re beautiful too,” the stranger added. He held out his hand, attempting to keep my attention. “I’m Abraham.”
I shook his hand, “I’m Danielle.”
“It’s my pleasure to meet you Danielle. I’d love to take you out for a drink sometime.” Abraham held my hand for longer than he needed to. The shake was over, but he held my fingers in his.
“You too Abraham. And sure, why not?” I smiled.
“May I have your number?” he asked.
I recited my number to Abraham and he smiled at me, “You’re really stunning.”
“And you’re refreshingly bold,” I said.
“I see what I like and I go for it,” Abraham smiled, pleased with himself. “If I had time tonight, I’d take you out right now.”
“Good things come to those who wait,” I said.
“And you’re a good thing for sure. I’ll call you!” Abraham said before finally letting my hand go and watching me walk away.
A couple of days later–long enough for me to start wondering, but short enough for me not to forget him–Abraham called. We talked briefly and ended the call prematurely when he said he had to go. There was no planning of the date he wanted to take me on and no expressed desire to do as such.
A couple of weeks passed by and Abraham texted me, asking if I was available in the next hour. No one living in New York City is available in the next hour–it takes at least two to get dressed and commute to wherever we’re going.
So I texted Abraham back what I hoped came off as upbeat and easy breezy: “Unfortunately not available tonight, but I am free on Tuesday and Thursday nights after work.”
No response. No nothing. Have I been curved? If I have, what was the point of him coming up to me all charming and whatnot? Couldn’t he just have admired me and moved on if he was going to play these reindeer games? I don’t think Rudolph even played like this.
But then again, I’ve taken numbers of men I’m not interested in and have ignored them too. Most recently, while walking to the subway in the morning for work, a man approached me. He had kind eyes, an eager smile and a stutter, but it was endearing. I entertained him as he approached me, telling me that I’m beautiful and asking me to stop for a moment.
I didn’t. “If you want to talk, walk with me. I’m already late,” I told the stranger with the kind face.
He stuttered through his sentence, but kept smiling, “I can do that,” he laughed to himself and kept up with my pace. “I see you every morning around this time. You always look so pretty.”
“Thank you,” I smiled.
“My name is Elliot. I am the super of this building over here,” he gestured.
“That’s nice. I’m Danielle.”
“It is,” Elliot kept walking and, after a pause, stuttered again and said, “I’d like to get to know you Danielle, if that is OK with you?”
“That’s OK with me,” I smiled at Elliot, expecting him to ask for my number.
He didn’t. Instead, he pulled out a piece of paper with his name and number on it. “Here you go,” he said handing me the paper. “Please call me when you can.”
I took the paper and laughed, “Old school. So you just walk around with your name and number written down?”
“Not usually, but I knew one of these days, I’d work up the courage to speak to you and I put it in my pocket every morning before I come out to see you. Today, I had the courage,” Elliot smiled.
I stuffed Elliot’s number in the bottom of my purse. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to call him or forget him. I also didn’t even know why I was having that inner dialogue. This man was clearly interested and obviously sweet and thoughtful. I gave Elliot one more smile before I said, “Have a great day.”
“You too Danielle,” he stuttered. “I can’t wait to hear from you. You made my day. Call me tonight OK?”
“Ok,” I went down the stairs and on to my day. Somehow, I’d lost Elliot’s number, but I wasn’t pressed to find it. Was this the makings of a curve on Elliot?