In When Harry Met Sally, Harry told Sally that men and women could never be friends because of the “sex part.” The sex part meaning the boy always wants to play hide the salami with the girl.
The other day my recently divorced neighbor asked me out. I think. I had whined to the world via social media that I was feeling blue. He responded, saying he was all ears if I wanted to talk and that he knows a great Italian joint.
Was he just being nice or trying to get in my pants? I mean, if I were him, I’d try to get into my pants. Oh God, what a stuck up little snot I am. Maybe he finds me repulsive and I’m being wayyyy too self-important.
I loitered on the corner of passive and aggressive and did not respond.
But, naturally, when I returned home from work I saw him in the courtyard of our apartment complex. He asked again about dinner. I said thank you so much, but I was busy. The truth is, I had already made reservations for a sumptuous supper of popcorn at Casa de My Couch. It would’ve been rude to cancel last minute.
Then he said maybe another time, no pressure — just as friends.
Oh. Okay. He specifically said that it would be “just as friends.” Cool. In fact, he told me he could use some dating tips. I gave him a hug and said another time would be great.
So why did I still feel awkward?
I posed the quandary to my Twitter followers. All of the male tweeps, much like Harry, said that men don’t ask women to dinner as friends — ever.
Defensive, I argued that surely, somewhere in history, a man has asked a woman to dinner with no ulterior motive. And then remembered how most of my prior male friends had in fact wanted to pork me. And then berated myself for being a self-important, stuck-up snot again.
A few days later, he asked again, but this time I really was busy. Phew.
I Pretty Much Suck
Why am I so averse to sharing a meal with this perfectly nice man? Here’s why. If we develop a friendship and he does try something, I’ll have to decline him and then feel bad about it. We’ll bump into each other at the mailbox and act overly polite but feel totally weird. Ultimately, I’ll avoid leaving the apartment altogether so as not to risk running into him.
And the other thing is, I’m a bitch. I mean, not like a real Shannen Doherty bitch-bitch, but a bitch in that I don’t really want a new friend right now. I have a busy schedule of work, nurturing current friendships, dating, thinking about writing blog posts, surfing the Internet and masturbating. How am I supposed to fit this new person into all of that?
Furthermore, I despise the whole small-talky, fake-positivey attitude one must adopt when interacting with someone new. Even though my blog is like the E! True Hollywood Story of a Big Nobody, in real life I’m a very private person. It takes a long time for me to open up.
[This is where I extend a preemptive BLOW ME to any Mr. or Ms. Sunshine who suggests I be more open to new friends and experiences.]
But the offer is out there. He’s asked — twice. I could suck it up and just go… but that might lead to a proposition of sex, or worse – more friendy-friend activities.
Or I could blow it off forever and be a Shannen Doherty bitch-bitch.
How inconsiderate of him to put me in this difficult position. Bastard.
Categories: True Story