It never ceases to amaze me how much men think they can get away with.
Of course I’ve been propositioned by the odd male friend, and have politely laughed and followed that up with a “you’ll always be my friend” gloss-over statement. Now that level of inappropriateness I can handle.
What I can’t swallow is when these friends seem to throw sexual innuendos into my face at any given opportunity, which is then a) plain inane and b) an unnecessary distraction to the conversation – I already have a short attention span and do not need anymore fleeting diversions! Not surprisingly, this costs some “friendship points” and makes me not want to hang out.
When I meet men, whether it is through work (does that make me unprofessional?) or play, I park them into boxes. There are about three virtual compartments with the following labels: potentials (small receptacle), friends (bottomless crate), and over my dead body (burning casket).
As you can imagine, my potentials box is very shallow and it has holes at the bottom to sieve out the unwanteds – just in case someone fell in there by accident.
I’m very fussy, so by default, everybody falls in the “friends” box, until proven not!
After experiencing two heartbreaks in the past year, I’ve decided that my heart has hit its quota of shocks, and that I’m focusing my energies on myself and doing some (real) work instead. My fortune teller last month advised that I will have two potentials heading my way, and I will have to make a wise choice. Ooooh, I don’t know… I’ve never been good at making choices!
So no love here, boys! My body is undergoing a system maintenance. I’m open to dates though, and those in it for the short term need not apply!
Image taken from stock.xchng