When a Booty Call is Bad or Let Me Burn
I had a dream last night that my apartment was burning down and the only person who showed up on the firetruck to save me was The Fireman. There he was, net below my bedroom window, telling me to jump. Saying he'd catch me. And you know what I said? "Let me burn." I'd be damned if I'd give him that satisfaction. To say nothing of the fact both options were pretty bleak.
That was pretty much how I felt last night when he showed up for Unexpected Visit #2. I had just gotten off work. It was day 6 of working and I'd been talking all day. Training and selling women on skincare. Talking about their skin or their make-up makes a lot of women feel vulnerable. Which makes them want to talk about their other vulnerabilities. One minute you're talking about LA water affecting your skin differently than New York water and the next, about the LA guy who the New York girl moved out here for and how he said her face wasn't pretty, rather "funky"--like it was a good thing and then proceeded to dig himself into a deeper hole by saying it was only because she wasn't wearing any make-up. After talking this girl off her ledge of being a twenty-something woman living with a man who doesn't understand that telling her she has a "funky" face isn't going to make her feel good (and after training the others), I was all talked out. I wanted to read. And rest. Alone. Yes, on a Saturday night.
So there I was. Reading. Alone. Having a glass of wine. Alone. Perfectly content. Not lonely at all. Until.. there was a knock on the door. I thought it was my neighbor. So I opened the door. No, I didn't ask "Who is it?" I mean, who comes to the door nowadays unannounced? Even Jehovah's Witnesses seem to have given that up. Well, apparently The Firemen didn't get the news bulletin. Then again, he doesn't read. He was on duty. His radio was going off evey other minute with a different call. Still, he was all over me. Not in the least bit dissuaded by my pushing him off or the guy on Rescue with him waiting in the truck downstairs. He tried unbuckling his pants. Taking off his shoes. He tried telling me it would be exciting to be with him when he could get a call at any minute and have to go. I tried asking him where his girlfriend was. Why he wasn't working on making it work with her. Why he was at my place. He said it was complicated. Isn't it always? "How old is she?" I asked. Not particularly sure why it mattered. For some reason, I pictured her young and dramatic, I guess. He said she was old. I asked him how old. "Old," he repeated. "How old?" "37." I just looked at him, giving him a moment to catch on. He continued to look at me in all his cluelessness. Finally, I said, "I'm 37. So apparently I'm old, too." "But you don't look it," he said. Uh-huh. Well, if guys like him keep showing up, I'm guessing I might look it very soon.
Look, it's not like I'm a total prude and think booty calls are a bad thing. In fact, sometimes they can be quite a good thing. It's just not when you want something else entirely. Something that means something. Look, I know I was the one who had a fling with him in the first place (pre-girlfriend, by the way). And I'm also the one who let him in the door the last time he showed up. And like Steve said (which I didn't believe) that since I let The Fireman in the door, since I let him stay overnight-- no matter how drunk he was (drunk enough to have crashed his car before he came over last time-- which I forgot somehow in Fireman Visit Part 1), and no matter that nothing had happened, I had still opened the door-- for The Fireman to think he was going to get something from me-- if not that night, then another. That's the problem with "no," I guess. It means such different things to different people. And more accurately, different things to The Fireman and me. That's why it took me forever to get him to leave.
One of my girlfriends said, "Could you imagine what he would have done if your boyfriend had answered the door?" Another friend thought it wouldn't have fazed him. I think truthfully, The Fireman thought the boyfriend thing was pretty unlikely to happen so it probably didn't even occur to him. Which made me sad. Because I'm right there with him. I mean, my friends are the ones who brought up the scenario. It never occurred to me, either. Which is bad. Especially since it's something I want. I think that may be why the minute The Fireman left the building, I was hit by this incredible sadness. Not because I really wanted him to stay or I wanted to sleep with him or anything like that. It was more about me wanting there to be a guy who read, a guy who called, a guy knew how old I was answering the door, acting like The Fireman was insane to just show up and think I'd want to be with him.
That was pretty much how I felt last night when he showed up for Unexpected Visit #2. I had just gotten off work. It was day 6 of working and I'd been talking all day. Training and selling women on skincare. Talking about their skin or their make-up makes a lot of women feel vulnerable. Which makes them want to talk about their other vulnerabilities. One minute you're talking about LA water affecting your skin differently than New York water and the next, about the LA guy who the New York girl moved out here for and how he said her face wasn't pretty, rather "funky"--like it was a good thing and then proceeded to dig himself into a deeper hole by saying it was only because she wasn't wearing any make-up. After talking this girl off her ledge of being a twenty-something woman living with a man who doesn't understand that telling her she has a "funky" face isn't going to make her feel good (and after training the others), I was all talked out. I wanted to read. And rest. Alone. Yes, on a Saturday night.
So there I was. Reading. Alone. Having a glass of wine. Alone. Perfectly content. Not lonely at all. Until.. there was a knock on the door. I thought it was my neighbor. So I opened the door. No, I didn't ask "Who is it?" I mean, who comes to the door nowadays unannounced? Even Jehovah's Witnesses seem to have given that up. Well, apparently The Firemen didn't get the news bulletin. Then again, he doesn't read. He was on duty. His radio was going off evey other minute with a different call. Still, he was all over me. Not in the least bit dissuaded by my pushing him off or the guy on Rescue with him waiting in the truck downstairs. He tried unbuckling his pants. Taking off his shoes. He tried telling me it would be exciting to be with him when he could get a call at any minute and have to go. I tried asking him where his girlfriend was. Why he wasn't working on making it work with her. Why he was at my place. He said it was complicated. Isn't it always? "How old is she?" I asked. Not particularly sure why it mattered. For some reason, I pictured her young and dramatic, I guess. He said she was old. I asked him how old. "Old," he repeated. "How old?" "37." I just looked at him, giving him a moment to catch on. He continued to look at me in all his cluelessness. Finally, I said, "I'm 37. So apparently I'm old, too." "But you don't look it," he said. Uh-huh. Well, if guys like him keep showing up, I'm guessing I might look it very soon.
Look, it's not like I'm a total prude and think booty calls are a bad thing. In fact, sometimes they can be quite a good thing. It's just not when you want something else entirely. Something that means something. Look, I know I was the one who had a fling with him in the first place (pre-girlfriend, by the way). And I'm also the one who let him in the door the last time he showed up. And like Steve said (which I didn't believe) that since I let The Fireman in the door, since I let him stay overnight-- no matter how drunk he was (drunk enough to have crashed his car before he came over last time-- which I forgot somehow in Fireman Visit Part 1), and no matter that nothing had happened, I had still opened the door-- for The Fireman to think he was going to get something from me-- if not that night, then another. That's the problem with "no," I guess. It means such different things to different people. And more accurately, different things to The Fireman and me. That's why it took me forever to get him to leave.
One of my girlfriends said, "Could you imagine what he would have done if your boyfriend had answered the door?" Another friend thought it wouldn't have fazed him. I think truthfully, The Fireman thought the boyfriend thing was pretty unlikely to happen so it probably didn't even occur to him. Which made me sad. Because I'm right there with him. I mean, my friends are the ones who brought up the scenario. It never occurred to me, either. Which is bad. Especially since it's something I want. I think that may be why the minute The Fireman left the building, I was hit by this incredible sadness. Not because I really wanted him to stay or I wanted to sleep with him or anything like that. It was more about me wanting there to be a guy who read, a guy who called, a guy knew how old I was answering the door, acting like The Fireman was insane to just show up and think I'd want to be with him.
posted by jodypwrites | 9:47 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home