It’s Normal to Be Nervous

Meeting a potential lover is fraught with difficulty.

First, arranging a meeting. Where? In between my house and yours. Halfway? Or are you coming to me? Because I am certainly not coming to you. You gotta try harder, dude. I have choices.

The affair game is inherently unfair.

Women make the rules upfront.
Men own the board later.

It’s all strategies.

How much do you want me? How much do I want you?

We click online but in real life?
Will he smell bad? Are his teeth yellow? Does he tuck his shirt in?

I’ve been on so many terrible first meets that I no longer try hard. I used to in the beginning. Now, I’ve learned. My thought process has evolved. See below:

I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.

I AM NOT TRYING HARD. SCREW IT. IF HE DOESN’T LIKE ME, HIS LOSS.

Yoga pants and a stretchy top. Done. No undies for thrills.
I’ll have a sexy secret.

Hair down or up? Hmmm. Ponytail is too casual. Clip and natural curls. I am not trying that hard. I AM NOT.

Why am I doing this again? Damn, if only I didn’t need sex so badly.

I get angry. My hubby should be fucking me so I don’t have to look. It’s not fair. Other women are desired. What’s wrong with me?

But let’s go back to dressing for this Starbucks meeting. I don’t do lunch—coffee only. It’s quick and relatively painless. I’ve learned the hard way. If it doesn’t work out, I have an easier escape.

He’s not going to be anything like he is online. I bet he’s ten years older. Uglier. Can’t keep a conversation going. I’ll be bored. I’ll need an excuse to leave. What could that be? Have think of something…

Could I imagine sleeping with him? That was the real question.

Would he be a good lover? Attentive and sweet but not too sweet. Dominant but not a jerk. Fire up every erotic longing that I have?

Would I want him?

Usually, I knew right away. It was a gut decision—the three-second rule.

Ugh, God.

What shoes do I wear? Sneakers or boots? Warmth or fashion or comfort? How much do I like this guy? I don’t hold out much hope anymore and usually go for Ugg’s. At least my feet will be warm, if not my heart.

Down coat. It’s winter, and I’m not shivering in Starbucks. I don’t care that I’ll look like Michelin Man. I can always put it on the back of the chair if I think he’s a possibility. Show off my chest. If not, it stays on.

Scarf? Yes. Damn, it’s cold. Hat? No. It will mess up my hair.

Screw this. What am I doing again?

I’m trying to get LAID.

I have to try just a bit. Hey, it’s not that easy. Even though most men are horny, it’s not a sure bet.

I have been rejected a few times. It’s not fun.

“You are not what I thought.”
“I’m not feeling it.”
“You seem nice, but I don’t think so.”
“We should just keep looking.”

Yes, we should just keep looking until we find what we are looking for.

An affair partner that fills all the gaps in my life. Someone who wants me as much as I want him.

Now I’m interviewing.

Back to the task at hand. Makeup? Mascara and lipstick. Absolutely. Maybe blush, or I will look dead. Nothing else.

SCREW THIS.

Why do I care so much? Why do I want this?

Because I need it. I need the warmth, companionship and sex. I don’t get anything at home. My husband seems to think celibacy is a valid option in marriage.

Will this guy like me?

IF HE DOESN’T LIKE ME, HIS LOSS.

If not, it’s onto the next. I will eventually find a lover.