I was having trouble making eye contact so I alternately stared at the calendar on my wall and picked invisible lint off my shirt.

“Because I think we have a future,” he was saying, breaking my heart with his earnestness. “And I know you’re probably not ready but I’d like to get to a place where we could become exclusive, boyfriend-girlfriend.”

It’s been three dates. Three.

And who says “boyfriend-girlfriend” anymore? Why do I feel like I’m in 8th grade?

“Yeah,” I said, trying to both agree and disagree at the same time. “I just…I don’t really think…I’m ready for that.”

What I mean to say is, “I don’t think I want that. At all actually.”

“Right, right,” he said, nodding his head, looking pensive. “It’s just…I want you to know that I will totally be there when you are ready.”

“Um, well,” I fidgeted, staring into outer space, wishing my roommate would walk in and interrupt this very much-needed conversation. “I just…I don’t think I will ever be ready…for that. It’s not really what I want.”

Phew. My God. Why is that so hard to say? Why do I feel like I am splitting this poor man in half?

“Oh…oh I see. So, this isn’t really about being ready, it’s about…me?”

It’s been THREE DATES. WHY ARE WE HAVING SUCH A DRAMATIC CONVERSATION AFTER THREE DATES?

“Uh, I think it’s both,” I lied.

In reality, he was a very nice guy. Aren’t they all? Really nice, super nice. And I was ashamed to verbalize all the things that bothered me because they were so trivial. They should’ve been relegated to “QUIRKS” instead of “REASONS WHY I WILL NOT MAKE OUT WITH YOU”. But, they did, they bothered me. And I tried to shake it and go on a second date and a third, in hopes that they would bother me less but of course, they bothered me more.

The stories he would tell that weren’t particularly funny, the way they would go on and on forever without ever making a succint point. The way he would ask “Have you ever seen that stand up comedy routine?” and I would say “No” and then he would give me a play-by-play of the whole entire thing which took approximately twenty minutes, every time. The lack of questions directed at me and instead, the constant chatter about himself. I think it came out of insecurity instead of ego, but still! BUT STILL!

The way he hadn’t paid on our first date!

I KNOW I KNOW, it’s totally backward and un-feminist to get all riled about this but sheesh, I always thought if you ASKED the person out, then you PAID. Or at least OFFERED. Or at least, put up a real good fight.

“I really like you, Laura,” he said as I desperately thought about sinking through the floor into the apartment below.

“I totally like you too!” I said, genuinely, honestly. He was such a NICE GUY. And a good kisser!

Maybe I was being too harsh. Maybe I was just in a bad mood and was totally taking it out on a guy that didn’t deserve it. Come on now, be fair! I talk a lot too! I tell stories that go nowhere! I am not particularly funny.

“I like you a lot,” he continued. “I think you are so funny…”

Okay. Well. Yes, then. I guess I can sometimes be funny.

“I think you’re funny and just…you’re just…so hilarious. So cute. And I don’t know you that well yet but there are so many things I like about you already.”

Wow, okay! Maybe I am wrong about this guy! Maybe all we need is more time! Maybe I just need to figure out a way to get past all my hang ups and really give him a fair chance! I wonder if there’s an inoffensive way to say “There will be no more quoting Will Ferrell movies in my presence ever again”?

“I mean, you’re pretty. You’re so pretty. And just..adorable, right? I mean, I said that. But it’s true…”

That’s it! I am totally giving him a chance! He is adorable too! Those beautiful eyes! And his teddy bear-like huggableness! So what if he rambles about stand up comedy for two hours a day? It’s OKAY! I AM IN THIS!

“And you know what else?” he asked.

“What?” I said, already dreaming of our house together and our babies and our dog.

“I mean, you laugh off your job because you’re a temp and everything but I can read between the lines.”

“You can?”

“Yeah! And I really think…”

Pause.

“I think you’re maybe kind of smart.”

Maybe kind of smart?

MAYBE KIND OF SMART?

HOLY HELL, DUDE. I AM NOT MAYBE KIND OF SMART. I AM ACTUALLY VERY SMART, BRIGHT, INTELLIGENT, AWARE. NO, IT’S TRUE, I DID NOT BREAK 1400 ON MY SAT’S BUT I AM VERY WELL-READ. I AM UP-TO-DATE ON CURRENT EVENTS! I STARTED READING AT THE AGE OF TWO. I HAVE A FUCKING BLOG, CAN’T YOU SEE THE GENIUS INSIDE?

“Actually,” I said, standing up. “I don’t really think this is going to work out.”

He looked crestfallen as I firmly walked him to the door and hugged him goodbye.

Quoting “Anchorman” is one thing. Not being present enough to know that I’m not another dumb blonde actress? Something else entirely.