Release

I “released” three of the four guys I’ve been on dates with recently. They took it well. The fourth I am keeping around for now – the one I’m physically attracted to. 

Mitt keeps popping into my messages occasionally (he is not the fourth, just to be clear). He is traveling. All summer, in fact. Every three days or so he asks me how it’s going. Tells me what adventures he’s having. 

I tend not to have lengthy replies: Good. Cool. Nice. Wow. 

He shared that he was singing musical numbers from Wicked with the granddaughter of the person whose house he’s staying at. I could have sworn that musicals were something that he disliked. You see, most of the things I love, he disliked. It was disheartening to share things with him only to have him say he didn’t find it funny or he didn’t like the sound. I gave up. 

I am somewhat used to men not liking the music I like. They tend to have shitty attitudes about it, like “I could only listen to six seconds of that before I had to turn it off.” My sisters once poo-pooed my taste in music and I really haven’t gotten over it. It’s sort of like a girl being told she’s bad at math and believing it, even if she is actually decent at math. I’ve been told I have bad taste in music, so I’ve believed it, even though I share the same music tastes as my close friends and my taste is, in fact, decent. 

Anyway, I gave him a list of episodes of comedy television I thought he might enjoy. I had Parks and Rec, Master of None, The Office, Freaks and Geeks, Bob’s Burgers… none of them clicked (he only watched Parks and Freaks). I wanted him to watch Stranger Things, too. He got to the point where I just said, “You know what? You don’t have to finish the list. I don’t want to make you miserable.” I got more and more miserable as he reported back that he watched the episode and didn’t like it. 

I had given him my Netflix password. I’ve since changed it. 

I don’t know if he feels obligated to continue to talk to me because he massacred my feelings. Or maybe he thinks we can go back to the way things were. 

I don’t see myself as being unguarded with him again. He doesn’t get to have that sort of access anymore. He doesn’t get to hear/read my stories about: the dick-shaped red Crystal Light stain on my carpet, the pictures I took of my dogs in wildflowers, the interactions I’ve had with my students, the flowers I planted in my gardens, or the other idle nonsense that makes up my life and provided him with a source of well-written, witty entertainment. 

He can try to find it elsewhere… and he will come up lacking.