Clegane

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"Hey, gorgeous girl," he texts in reply to my "Hi." It's never just a "Hey," never just "Sup?", it's always an embellished, over the top message that seems to bathe me in glorious comfort... for about half a second.

And it's not that he's a bad person. Everything about him - the way he speaks to me, the way he acts around me - it's all overly lavish, like he's found someone special, and needs to be sure to tell them so.

But I've gotten very good at reading people over the years, or so it seems. At least when I'm not willfully blinding myself to somebody's faults and assuring myself that they would never do that -- (happened once, folks, it won't happen again.) So I asked myself what made me uncomfortable about being showered in praise about my looks and the way I made someone feel. Ultimately, it wasn't that much of a puzzler.

If you were to ask him who I am, he'd be able to tell you that I'm quite a gorgeous girl. Aaand, that's it. I don't think he knows anything else about me, or maybe he does but it simply doesn't register. All that matters about me is that I turn him on.

A conversation I had with him is what led me to the conclusion that this current casual dating phase needs to come to a close. Men anywhere, but especially men in India, aren't really capable of carrying out casual relationships without dehumanizing their partners or dates. Nor do they understand the word consent, let alone its language. Remarkable, then, that none of these people - not the ones that see only a single aspect of me, not the ones that are rapey, and not the stalkerish, entitled ones - are rock bottom. Rock bottom is happily and safely in the past, and I'm not worried I'll repeat old mistakes.

What's kind of sad is not having the energy to follow up with decent seeming dudes - i.e. the ones that haven't tripped too many red flags yet. Ugh, I wish I could tell y'all that I really, really do like you and would love to spend more time with you, but narcolepsy beckons, and I must answer. 

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