I wonder...

Has anyone ever wondered, "Why do I attract all the wrong people and never the right one?"

Mom says that if that is my biggest concern, then I'm seriously not in trouble. I know she's right (she always is, dammit). But it doesn't make the concern go away.

Seriously.

The thing is that I have a compulsion to be super nice to people. Especially new people. Because my old-time friends are used to my mood swings and frank (sometimes brutal) honesty. Some even find it entertaining. But they're crazier than me, and that's saying something.

Aside from that, I am virtually unable to cold-shoulder anyone. THIS IS A HANDICAP. You have no idea!

Because say you meet someone really nice, to whom you're only attracted to as a friend because your heart is still desperately taken by someone else who hasn't made a move on you but hasn't given you any reason to think he wasn't planning to (hello, Slim!), and this really nice person did not turn out to be another Admin Boy of this world (they're more common than you'd think!), and this really nice person suddenly assumed that you wanted to date them...

Um, whoops, anyone??

I have nothing against the guy, but for the love of Pete, I won't start pity-dating someone. I mean, I have more respect for people than that.

Still, that leaves me with a dilemna. I'm too nice for my own good, so it got me into the mess, but I'm too nice to say, "Look, bud, no can do this, because that guy sitting across from you, the one drumming on the table? Yeah, he's my true love and he doesn't know it."

SO WHAT DO I DO?

Why, skirt around the issue like a bleeding coward, of course. Because if I learned something from my stupid mishap with Bass, it's that saying, "yeah, sure, I'll go on a date with you," ―when you don't actually want to and you're just stunned that a kind of cute guy actually asked you out― is a sure-fire way to mess things up even more.

I replied to the offer with a carefully worded answer that averted any impending date away for a little while, and then slumped next to my mom, who was watching a really bad soap opera (she loves horrible quality television, remember?), and whined, "Mom, someone's pulling a Bass on me."

To which she replied, without even glancing at me, even though she totally smiled, LIKE THIS WAS A FUNNY MATTER, WHICH IT TOTALLY IS NOT, "Wait until the ads. This guy cheated on his wife and is trying to seduce her again so that she forgives him."

So of course I shut up and watched this fascinating episode (I don't know what TV series this was, because I didn't care to find out), until the ads came and my mom muted them. She then turned to me and said, "Alright, what now?"

So I told her. Because she's the ultimate source of wisdom, and because I know none of my girl friends will sympathize. They hardly sympathized back in the Bass days, so I know I shouldn't expect much this time around.

At the end of my short but clearly panicked tale, she said, "You know that plenty of girls, including Eva, your friend, would kill for his sort of attention, right?"

I stared at her. "Mom, I need advice, not moralizing."

She sighed. "Look, CM, maybe you're making this out to be more than it really is. Maybe he just wants to date you as a friend."

I squinted at her. "That's exactly what Josie said about Bass, and look how THAT turned out."

"But maybe this is different. Has he said he wanted to date you?"

"Yes."

She gives me a pointed look.

"Sort of."

I can feel her holding back a tired sigh. "CM, if this is the extent of your problems, you are living a wonderful life."

"Thank you, Mom, for your unconditional support," I answered sarcastically. "Now what should I do?"

"Tell him your heart belongs to another." She frowns and looks at me. "It still does, doesn't it?"

I nod grimly. Mom knows about Slim. Mom knows about everything. She doesn't even have to inquire. She's got an intuition. I gave up trying to hide anything from her years ago. Because she'll just end up knowing, and then she'd give me grief about hiding stuff from her.

Besides, it makes asking for counsel that much easier. If she knows about Slim, I mean.

"Yeah, it still does, but Mom, nobody says that sentimental 'My heart belongs to another' thing anymore."

"Well, excuse me for being fifty years old."

"Nevermind, Mom, I'll figure this out on my own. Can you just tell me something?"

"What, dear?" Her show has come back on, but she leaves the mute sound. Because it doesn't really matter what is being said in that show.

"Why," I ask, my voice rising hysterically, "IN THE NAME OF WHY, will I attract all the wrong guys but the one that REALLY MATTERS??"

"It's part of the growing-up trauma, sweetie. You can't be a normal young adult without the emotional drama. You can accept it or deny it, but that's how it is. Will that be all?"

I give up for now, and return to my computer, when suddenly my brother says, "I don't get it, CM. Why do you have to make such a fuss about this one guy? Why don't you solve all your problems and just get yourself a boyfriend? I got a girlfriend, and that solved all my girl problems."

He's doing this on purpose. I screech, "MOM, can I flick him off? Please?"

"No, sweetheart. This home is a loving one and I won't have you flicking your brother off. He's your only sibling, and you'll show him care and affection."

"Get a boyfriend, CM. You might grow up to be an old spinster."

"Mom, can you go upstairs for a very short moment? I promise I won't poke a finger in his eye sockets, even though he's asking for it."

"You won't flick him off, dear, so don't try to get me to leave you two unattended."

"But we're young adults! We can be mature and educated without supervision!"

"You will not flick your brother off, CM. It is rude and unecessary."

At this point, my brother is snickering like you wouldn't believe. I bring my hands to my forehead and rub my temples with my thumbs.

"This sucks," I say, eloquently enough.

"If having this young man around bothers you so much, be a bitch to him," my mom suddenly says from her spot on the couch. She's not listening to the soap opera anymore, because she's focused on her needlework. My mom's a quilter by hobby, and she can make clothes. Right now she's embroidering 'Sexy Beast' on my brother's home-made pyjama bottom, right where his butt is gonna be.

I'm astonished by her suggestion. "Mom, I don't hate the guy, I just don't want to date him."

"Well," she said, "Being a bitch works sometimes."

I can't help the irony. "Thank you, Mother. 'Indeed, you taught me to sit up straight, eat my soup properly, write decently, embroider my name on a silk cloth, and that being bitchy works'. Something in that sentence doesn't fit."

She laughs. "Sorry, CM. I failed you for now."

And she returns to her needlework. Great.

In conclusion, my mother might be a well of knowledge, but she loathes to dispense it to hysterical daughters with a dramatic flair.

It's always good to know. ;b

Love,
CM