Why Do Men Keep Assuming What I Want?

Because you never get it right, fellas.

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I have just concluded Week 7 of online dating. Let’s review the numbers so far, shall we? Nine first dates. Zero second dates. 12 complete dead ends. Three pictures of genitalia. Two apps deleted. A partridge in a pear tree would be a delight right about now.

I have found a commonality in this shit show. Men frequently assume what I want and are completely off the mark. This swings in two completely different directions to the point being quite humorous.

Direction #1 — I’m just thirsty.

This, my friends, is how you end up with three pictures of body parts you never wanted to see in the first place. Interestingly, I got all three in the span of four days. Friday, Saturday and Monday.

Apparently, men don’t send pictures of their genitalia on Sunday. I can only assume it’s because of God.

In order to demonstrate misunderstandings of my dating intentions, I present the following Bumble conversation. The man did note in his profile that he makes bacon. Obviously, I was intrigued and inquired within. It went awry.

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Yes. I clapped back with Barry Manilow lyrics. What’s a girl to do?

Direction #2 — I’m here to take over your life.

Is there some rampant concern among middle aged men that all middle aged women want to immediately settle down and monopolize their time? This is bizarre to me. I dated a guy over the summer who had commented that he was having a hard time finding a woman who didn’t want to run off and get married next week. What the what? Really?

I am beginning to think that men have started to confuse not wanting to be treated like a doormat for wanting to suck the souls out of their bodies. I have no intention of hunkering down with someone and putting a lock around their neck.

I have a great circle of friends I like to see. I have hobbies. I have a kid. I really like to read. My writing takes time. I am a “Holy crap! I need space!” kind of girl.

So what DO I want?

I want everyone to chill the hell out and stop overthinking everything. We’re not curing cancer, people. We’re trying to find companionship. I don’t want you to use me for sex. I also have no interest in making you my next ex-husband. I just want someone to help me finish dessert so I feel less guilty about it. Simple.

Written by

Flaming pinball, nerd, music lover, wine snob, horrible violin player. No, I won’t stop taking pictures of my drinks. vanessaltorre@gmail.com IG: vanessaltorre

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