"Never?"
"Never."
"Like never – never?"
"Never."
"What if you got married?"
"Never. No desire. None whatsoever."
"Well that's a deal breaker."
(Well duh.)
This was the beginning of the end of my brief eharmony bred romance
with a guy that under normal circumstances I never would have
considered.
He was, is, a nice guy. Nice. Very polite, paid for things, passed
along genuine compliments and didn't try to make a move. Nice.
He was the type of guy I almost never date. Nice is not all that
interesting to me.
I was having a drink with a guy I used to date, who holds much more
appeal to me now that there is no threat of having to sleep with him
and he suggested that perhaps I should give nice a chance, since
repeatedly dating assholes like himself hadn't worked out so well for
me.
So I gave Mr. Nice not one but two turns on the dance floor.
Our first date was a good time. He exhibited all the nice guy traits
listed above and for the first time in, maybe ever, I spent the entire
date being completely myself – metaphorical warts and all.
I explained this occurrence to my girlfriends during a girls' night
out. I blamed the personality freedom on my lack of attraction for
him.
When guys say a girl has a good personality they are really saying she
is a but-her-face.
When girls say that he is a 'nice guy' they are basically saying they
could never imagine calling his name out in the heat of passion.
I flinched when I thought he might kiss me.
"He doesn't make you nervous," my girlfriend commented over a plate of
pasta at Brio.
"Nope."
At this point there was divergent opinions on the necessity of
nervousness. My best friend recently read a book called something
like, "The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough" and has been touting
his praises ever since. My other girlfriend is making her exit
strategy out of a dead end relationship she knows isn't going anywhere
because they have different life plans. She says it is the deep love
that they have for each other that keeps her staying point. I don't
buy that it is not their smoking hot sex.
"I have been successfully single for 28 years," my other girlfriend proclaimed.
"I have successfully signed up for a series of unhealthy relationships," I quipped back.
So for this reason, even though Mr. Nice didn't make me nervous I
signed up for date number two.
Oh boy.
When I walked into his suburban mini-mansion, I thought nice might not
be all bad but he lost all points he gained as a result of my shallow
desire for square footage when I saw the deer head mounted
predominantly on his wall.
Yuck.
I tried, I really did but this guy could have fit right in with my gun
toting cousins and as much as I love them I wouldn't want to date
them, even if I wasn't related to them. Camo just isn't a good color
on me.
So after yet another good on paper date I tried to determine the best
way to slip out of his grasp with his dignity in tact and my gag
reflex untested.
Luckily the thought of a woman who would never change her name for a
man seemed to turn him off as much as a deer carcass repulsed me.
He texted the next night and called the day after but I haven't had
the heart to call him back. I know the right thing to do would be to
call him and tell him that while I enjoyed his company, I think we
would be better as friends.
The thing is, I am just not that nice.
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