My choice on any given day after work is to keep drinking water and make sure I get my 7-8 glasses a day, or to drink some wine instead. This choice is both literal and metaphorical. Literally, I should drink 7-8 glasses of water a day and literally every day I really want to drink some wine. However, the metaphor can apply to my dating life. (I realized this with the help of a friend, so, thanks friend!)
See, I’ve been seeing this guy. We’ll call him Remy. So, Remy is my first…idk, “thing”, from Tinder. And really, he also happens to be my first “thing” not from my high school… because, as you may recall from a previous post, I dated the same person from my hometown during most of my time in college. I didn’t have any new relationships in college…. and now I’m out here in limbo trying to date and stuff in the adult world. And by the way, what are these adult dating rules? Why has no one written them down?
So Remy. Remy claims he isn’t sleeping with anyone but me. Remy has claimed he isn’t ‘quite single, but ya know, isn’t married or anything’ (well, good, right? But I get what he’s saying. Or do I?). He also calls me ‘bae’ or ‘babe’ or similar things on occasion. Which honestly could mean nothing. The owner of the fucking liquor store calls me ‘honey’, ‘dear’, and ‘baby’ on a regular basis, and I swear I’m not there often enough for that to be warranted. So this could mean nothing. Remy can read me incredibly well, seems to clearly be very very attracted to me and also realizes I’m an intelligent human being. But…. what is this? This “thing”? Am I in a relationship and not know it because I’m a moron when it comes to adult dating? Am I being led on in a way I don’t even realize? I turned down many a suitor after I met Remy (again, I deleted Tinder for this guy). I did this because I just felt like there was some insane connection between us… or is he just really charming? Right now, there are no points against Remy other than he cancels plans on me or just simply won’t return my texts on a semi-regular basis. But he’s busy, and of course I question everything: Why was he on Tinder in the first place – to meet a nice, intelligent girl like myself.. or to get laid? Also, why was I on there in the first place? Was I looking to get laid, or something else? Do any of these questions have real answers? Are all of my questions rhetorical? When will I stop?
Side note, and maybe really important: I kinda like this boy. I’m very attracted to him in more ways than one, he’s one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met, and we have a lot of similar interests. That last one sounds silly, but it’s more important than you would think.
This leaves me with my literal and metaphorical choice: drink the water, or drink the wine? I could drink more water. I know that’s a safe choice. It’s good for my health, my well-being, and my conscious will likely be clear if I choose water over wine, because I won’t know what I’m missing if I choose not to drink the wine. I could choose to just not think anything of this boy, let this “thing” run it’s course. Maybe even let him go completely, to be certain I won’t fall for the boy. But – the wine could be really good, worth choosing over the water. Drinking some wine and one fewer glass of water couldn’t kill me, right? I could get drunk off this boy. I could see what this wine is all about, what it’s made of and just drink the whole bottle, drink all night. That’s really the only way to try wine anyway, to drink the whole bottle. Drink it all in, to make sure each glass is as good as the next. In the morning I could see if I get a hangover off some cheap, sugary imitation or if it was the good stuff. I could wait and see if he’s the real deal. In a month, I could wake up with a hangover when I fall and he leaves – or I could wake up in a month and be rewarded with something real.
Let’s not over think it, shall we? I’ve always preferred wine over water, bacon over vegetables, and beer over exercise anyway. I’ve gone shot for shot with some of the worst/best alcoholics I know, so bring on the hangover if that’s the case. I’m done asking these rhetorical questions, done with the annoying inner monologue, and done trying to play it safe.
Fuck it. Let there be wine, she said.