Have you ever come to that point in a relationship with a guy, where you don’t know how much sharing is too much?
I got this recently when some things in my life caused me to change from being the happy, chipper person I normally am to a pre-halloween doom-fest – significantly freaking out the guy I like.
It got to that awful part in the conversation when you get gut-wrenching butterflies just waiting for him to respond, so you know how he took your message; feeling like the whole worlds rotating existence depends on his vital reply.
Naturally checking my blackberry every quarter of a second, I cursed myself for maybe being a bit too truthful about the reality of my life at the moment – that I’m carrying more baggage than a 747.
Of course, he would have to be in lesson when I sent this message (or so I would hope due to the shameful time span in which it took for him to reply) and I can’t say a tiny wincing noise didn’t come out when I did end up reading his response to my brutally honest life story.
Yes, letting him no that my life isn’t perfect caused him to slide into ‘brain fart’ mode and more or less say ‘Ok, please stay away from me.’. As you can imagine, I immediately started booking my ticket to Pluto. I’ve heard it’s nice this time of year anyways. Free from anyone who’s going to see the bee-sting red cheeks I had at that moment in time.
I felt like Michelle from ‘How to lose a guy in 10 days’, committing classic pre-dating crimes. I was just thankful that I stopped myself from telling him everything that I had eaten that day. But what harm can it to now… some toast, Doritos… and a foot apparently.
Fear not though, because after some serious relaxation and realisation later that night, a bottle of wine and a Friends episode that I’ve seen 1000 times before later, I had a revelation...
Australia’s much prettier than Pluto any day. What WAS I thinking?
