My God, Where Was My Good Sense?

Now, y'all already know I have been through more than my share of everyday, run of the mill, fuckboys. I'm aware that my hotline is 1-800-FUCKBOY. I also know that it's the running joke that I wouldn't know a healthy relationship if it bit me square on my well toned ass.

This ain't news to me.

But, this incident of late? This one isn't my fault. I was bamboozled, y'all. Hoodwinked. Snowed.

And yet, here we were, within 3 feet of one another, and this dude apparently thought I had the intelligence quotient of a turnip. The outlandish tales, that's one thing. But to outright lie to me about something I could verify in less than thirty seconds? And for absolutely no reason other than to try to look more important than you actually are? Who really does that type of thing?

A Fuckboy. That's who does that type of thing.

I remember standing there thinking "this dude has to be a sociopath". He lied to me at least ten times in a span of thirty minutes, never once skipping a beat, a breath, a punctuation mark. The lies just kept rolling out of his mouth, and I watched them crash onto the carpet, as they started to form a trashy little pile.

Now I have been known to let a lot of things slide. Pretty much any level of idiocy you can imagine, I've, for a short time, tolerated it from some dude at some point. This, though, this outright affront to my intelligence? I simply couldn't abide.

I'm sometimes a woman who is taken on emotional rides. Or on guilt trips. But I am not a stupid woman by any means, and I can't understand how on Earth this dude thought that the words that were being spewed forth from his lips would resonate any sort of truth. They didn't.

I really think I was almost curious to find out what type of outlandish shit he would try to sell to me next. The entire time that he was talking, I was sitting there thinking "This would be funny if it wasn't actually happening to me. This is literally the type of thing that my readers tell me about that causes me to question the cesspool we're fishing dates from".

Then, I started to wrap my brain around the fact that to lie so easily, over something basically of zero importance, and not even drop eye contact? That's sociopathic behavior. That's pathological. And pathological, that's borderline behavior and I'm dropping into full-on anxiety just thinking about being around another one of those for any length of time.

So, there you have it. The story of how I decided that dating is not for me. I don't want to wade through the fiction to get to the actual grain of truth somewhere in the drivel. I don't want to have to wonder if every word being said to me is an embellishment or just a complete work of fiction.

At that very moment, I swore to myself that it was the last time. The last forced nicety, the last strained social grace. I live my life calling spades spades. The fact that I'm out to dinner with someone shouldn't keep me from doing so. I wanted to start taking notes, so that when I got home I could send him an email covering every lie he boldly told me, but I don't think my shorthand would have been able to keep up. The pace was, at the very least, breakneck.

In the end, I decided that I would, in the grand tradition of Cinderella, run out of my heels and toward my chariot while tossing the wave over my shoulder. He really didn't even deserve that much, but you know I'm Southern, so there's that factor.

In case you're reading this, I lied. I don't want you to call me. I don't want to see you again. I do hope you can keep your fabrications straight the next time around, because you just looked silly. Get yourself together, man.