In Which I Date A Guy Who Has No Kids
Ever since the HSD debacle, I haven’t felt very enthusiastic about or interested in dating at all, which I think anyone would agree is understandable. Still, when a friend told me recently that she had the “perfect” guy for me, I figured, hey, why not give it a shot? He was a bit younger than me and didn’t have kids, and if I’m going to date I would prefer to date another single parent for all kinds of reasons. But as long as I don’t get Caroline involved again, which you can bet your last pair of mom-jeans I will not, what do I have to lose but time?
Oh, and also my last shred of dignity? There’s always that to be lost. Well, there was. It’s gone, now.
It started out fine. Pretty great, in fact. He asked me to go to this place where there was not only a bar but also all these kid-type games like mini golf and skeeball and a climbing wall, et cetera. We had a great time and had tons to talk about. It went so well that when he invited me back to his place to hang out with his friends, I accepted. (Because, again, why not?) I followed his car back to his place, and that’s where I realized I had made some kind of… miscalculation.
I walked in the door and met his two roommates, who were very nice, just like he was. But the place reeked of smoke, and not the cigarette kind. There were giant speakers scattered around the floor, recycling bins overflowing with beer cans, a hookah sitting on a scarred kitchen table, beer pong “house rules” tacked to the wall, and above the fireplace was a giant whiteboard with a single word scrawled across it in dry-erase black marker: DIARRHEA.
(Well… at least it was spelled correctly?)
One of his roommates rolled by me (yes, in the house) on a Razor scooter towards the bathroom. I went to sit down in one of the chairs at the hookah table and my date grabbed my shoulder. ”Oh, not that one,” he said. “It’s only got three legs.”
“So, how long have you guys lived here?” I asked, brightly, and a little too loudly, in a desperate attempt to drown out the chorus of I’mtoooldforthisI’mtoooldforthisI’mtoooldforthis that was screaming through my brain. ”About six months,” my date said cheerfully. ”No, wait, longer than that…”
I’m not trying to be a snob, here, but really, how could I ever imagine bringing my child to a place like that if we started seriously dating? And what would he think of my place, which is usually nearly spotless and has organic kids’ snacks in the pantry and the lyrics to “You Are My Sunshine” hanging next to silver-framed smiling photos of me and my daughter on the wall?
Really, the last straw was the awkward moment where he playfully whacked me with a couch pillow and blood started gushing from my nose. ”Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” he gasped. “Captain Take-It-Too-Far over here. Are you okay??” ”I’m fine,” I insisted, peering at him as I tilted my head back and applied pressure to staunch the flow. “I’ll send you the bill for my transfusion.” (Awe. Some. This sh*t only happens to me. On dates.)
And yet he was such a cool and funny guy and throughout the few dates we had, we never ran out of things to say to each other. In the end I broke it off because I just couldn’t see it going anywhere– he seemed far too uncomfortable with the fact that I had a child, and I couldn’t get past the fact that we were in such different places in our lives. He seemed a little hurt at first, but quickly agreed that he wasn’t ready to date someone who was already a mom.
I’m in such a strange place in life, you guys. Being a mom defines me to such a degree that I would really prefer to date men who also have children, because they understand me and my priorities in a way that people who don’t have children never could. But I’m also young enough that I still really like to have fun… so 35-year-olds who have kids and go to bed by 10pm on weekends (like HSD) aren’t a good fit for me, either. I used to have a different life, back in college, like the guy in this post… and I loved it at the time, and sometimes I miss it, but I don’t want to go back and I don’t want to date someone who is still there, either. As I told him when I broke things off, I think that for younger guys who don’t have kids, my life might be a nice place to visit, but they probably wouldn’t want to live there.
So, it turns out that I’m extending my break from dating– indefinitely. Whatever happens will happen, but my life is apparently incapable of being non-crazy even when I’m not looking for anything… so who knows what unbelievable situation I’ll end up in next. (Stay tuned for the next episode of “Hey, At Least You’re Not Julia”.)Add a Comment