Friday, January 3, 2014
Broken Boundaries and Big Girl Apologies
Bennie brushing up on his concepts of feminism by reading Gloria Steinem.
Speaking of feminism, according to my demographics of Analytics, mostly men read my blog. And younger men from 25-39. Next followed by younger women 25-39, then women over 65. Go figure.
OK, let's talk boundaries. Boy, were there a thousand boundaries compromised the-night-everything-went-weird. I have to pull up my big girl panties and make an apology to someone I don't know. This is that dude I constantly keep running into and we nod and say hello, but nothing ever happens because I always got to be chilly too-cool-for-school (which is really just a cover for being shy). Oh, and chicken. I'm a chicken-shit.
This makes no sense, I realize, but this mystery-man who's book'ish, works out at my gym, reminds me of myself. The hipster glasses, the bemused expressions, his sometimes odd fashion choices, the books he always bring to the bar, his mini netbook like mine, and his, well, his perception (more on this in a minute).
When the Universe threw a curve ball in my court last week, I was associating with someone who got rather obnoxiously intoxicated at my favorite pub and acted silly to mystery-man; it threw me in a position where now I HAVE to talk to this hipster mystery-man. As in I have NO CHOICE.
What I have to do is apologize for my friend getting smashed and being loud and braying at him. No, you don't need the specifics. Just that it was embarrassing, way over the level of your mom showing your first boyfriend that awkward family photo of you looking all zitty wearing a moo-moo, braces, and crooked glasses.
Now let's go back to perception. I like really perceptive people, and this guy, I can tell is one of them. When my friend was drunkenly doing his best impersonation of a dancing-braying donkey while I cringed and desperately looked for a way to hide under the bar stool, I saw a million perceptive thoughts flicker behind the hipster's glasses:
"Did you know this donkey braying bit isn't remotely funny?"
"Your friend cannot hold his liquor."
"That's really kind of douchey."
"You seemed cool all the times I've seen you since last summer, but maybe you're douchey by association. If so, how disappointing. Good bye," as he walked away.
So you're thinking, why should I care? Because even if we never become friends (due to the Universe calling the shots, of course), I would still like for him to think of me as "that cool chick always reading a good book with the cool netbook like mine." NOT, "that chick I thought was cool, but then her friend put on a donkey hat and did a barnyard-fornicator jig around the bar, so she must be douchey, too."
So imagine my inner-cringing, my utter crippling-embarrassment, as I stumble toward him sometime in the near future, sweaty-palmed and say, "Hey, I'm sorry that the last time I saw you, my friend, blah, blah, blah. I'm sorry," my face turning nine shades of red.
He may just feign a nod and say, "don't worry about it," then go back to his book, dismissing me like a foolish student trying to hand in a late paper. Or he may say, "That's OK. It's no big deal," and smile.
But I gotta ride it out a few weeks to even GO there, maybe even a month or two. I have to get up my courage first . . .
Sigh--this isn't my ideal way of first introducing myself. Double sigh. Wish me luck.