Charming, but single

There is a very saccharine-sweet saying about people coming into your life, leaving footprints on your soul and you never being changed. Or something ridiculously adorable like that.

Other people, I think, come in to your life, get under your skin enough to irk you and then leave you completely conflicted and generally annoyed. And you can’t, no matter how hard you try, forget them. You could bang your against the kitchen counter until your brains were all mixed up like scrambled eggs. And the first thing you’d think would be, “I wonder what so-and-so is doing right now, other than ignoring me.”

Most of the people who crawl under my skin like bugs are men, but not all men affect me in this way. There are the ones I scarcely remember — first dates or a drink bought — hell, some that I’ve kissed — who left little imprint, negative or otherwise, on my life, save a funny story from college or an odd, awkward moment in passing. The men who might not even earn a second thought until I’m actually trying to think about them.

When I first started really writing this, there was B. And he got under my skin so badly that I picked every little moment and interaction apart until it meant nothing. And I can safely say now that some things just don’t have second meanings or special symbolism. Life is not always so complex. A phone call is a phone call and a certain beer isn’t your special beer together. It’s just a drink.

And for some reason, for some inexplicable reason, some day, you just stop caring. And you feel kind of silly about the hours and hours and days wasted on this person and the sheer volume of tears shed, which could fill the Gulf of Mexico. Or so it seems at the time.

The other day when Best Friend Ever was in town and we were jumping her in and out of dresses, B sent me a text message that he had a keg and I should come over. I have no idea why my almost-30 year old former Life Altering Crush had a keg on a random afternoon at 1:30 and, seriously, maybe he didn’t need a reason. But as I explained a few hours later that I was being a bridesmaid and he had a typical disdainful reaction, I giggled at how different I am right now. Years ago I would have weaseled my way out of anywhere to go casually hang out with him. And now I was just rolling my eyes.

On the way to dinner, I told Best Friend Ever about his text message and how I asked him, “Why a keg?” and he seemed to think that was the stupidest question ever.

“You know, years ago I would have just, died if I hadn’t rushed over there to sit cutely in his house and flirt and think maybe he’d look at me and realize how fantastic I was,” I said.

“Exactly,” she said. And then she paused, like she was looking for the right words. “And you know, I listened to you talk about him incessantly for years. And you know what?”

“What?”

“If I would have heard one more story about B, one more thing B did or didn’t do …”

“Yes?”

“I would have killed you.”

I laughed this hearty, deep laugh for myself and poor silly me who fell just a little bit in love on her 22 birthday — sometime between when the boy she’d met a week or so prior had showed up to her party and between when the cops showed up to issue her a noise citation. (She maintains, FYI, that the party was not THAT loud, for crying out loud. And even if it was, didn’t she deserve a warning? It was her first offense and her BIRTHday .) A few days later he’d kissed her and then abruptly left her apartment and she’d followed him downstairs, all barefoot even though it was December.

“I’ll see you around.”

“You will?” she asked.

“I will.”

“But, um, will WE see each other?” she asked. (She is, FYI, slapping her forehead in shame for how desperate that sounded.)

The blood drained from her face at his pause. It was dark, so he didn’t see. But she saw him nod reassuringly.

Little did she know, right?