Hey, Gentle Reader.
I’m not exactly always proud of my behaviour. Um.
Back in February, I briefly touched on an old flame. He turned out to be trans*, of course, and she, as we must now call her, was having difficulty dealing with that while dating me. I had pushed our romance on her too soon, anyway. At any rate, our romance was a bit like the Hindenburg disaster. We agreed to forestall any decision regarding the two of us until the August of that year.
Later, I swear, I’m certain that she broke things off with a finality that usually only accompanies graveside services. She had a different view, and considered us still an item. As we were frequently at the same social functions, this quickly became awkward.
Oh, Gentle Reader! I tried. I tried so hard to be pleasant, affable, nonchalant – polite, and no pressure. Instead, I was passive-aggressive, tense, anxious, and increasingly nasty. On those rare occasions when we were both able to speak pleasantly to one another, I tried to claim too much. Naturally, the occasions where we were both able to speak pleasantly to one another were sponsored by alcohol. Of course. That’s a healthy way to deal with things. I digress.
August finally rolled around. I was at the Renaissance Faire, camped out with my household, as per usual. Miss T. was to show up the Friday of that weekend. Of course, she didn’t. However, her boss, J., was – he was also the Colonel’s wife’s boss, and they were there – and we ended up taking a walk together, with romantic intent. Nothing came of it.
Another friend attempted to set me up with a young bearded gentleman, the same night. He was very enthusiastic, and refused to do anything non-conversational unless I was sober. It was midnight at a bacchanalian festival; clearly, that was right out. Bear in mind, at this point, Miss T. thinks that we’re still together, although I think that I’m a free agent.
Now here, Gentle Reader, is where I behave really abominably. You remember back in Post the Fourth how I mention Tyler Two? He’s the one in fur, who introduces himself with wine.He also used to be an exotic dancer.
Knowing that Miss T. was due to arrive the next day, Saturday, I asked whether he’d be able to be arm-candy for me, to make Miss T. jealous. He said that he wouldn’t be able to make it, but he’d send a representative to do the job.
Fun fact: the representative, also a former dancer, is Tyler Four. However, Tyler Two was able to make it, suddenly, and so I had two ridiculously attractive young men on my arms. There was no sign of Miss T, Tyler Four wandered off to go hit on some ladies; Tyler Two and I retreated to some long grass to make out for awhile, before he left to go hit on some ladies as well (he’s straight, but will sometimes make out with other Tylers. This is an excellent policy.)
I’m in our encampment, a trifle disappointed that my machinations did not come to fruition, and giving up on Miss T. showing up at all.
I should point out that I am still more than a little in love with her, and all the tomfoolery was to cause such a vast amount of jealousy that she would come to me and ride off into the sunset on a unicorn, or something. Well! There I was, seated at the full bar that we take camping with us, and who should finally turn up? The young lady herself.
As I am attempting to have the Significant Conversation with Miss T., the four young men detailed above one by one make their way into the bar.
They are affectionate. Both Tylers try to fulfill their role in the charade that I had called off. The bearded boy is forgettable, and his flirtations were negligible. Though Miss T. had not noticed any of this, I grabbed her and took her out into the long grass, to continue our conversation, before anything more disastrous should happen. Once there, I confess to trying to ensnare the Bossman. This causes understandable tears. I explain that I hadn’t meant anything by it, thinking that I was single, and there’s plot exposition on both sides. We return to camp. Tyler Two, seeing his cue, kisses me. Miss T. runs off, into the darkness.
Since, Miss T. and I sporadically talk, online. Sometimes we’ll see each other in person, and it’s terribly awkward. We’re attempting friendship, but I don’t know how that’s working out. Sina, I’m sorry for everything.
This, Gentle Reader, is why I should never date, and why I generally don’t.