“He doesn’t snuggle,” Kayla said into the phone, as softly as if she were whispering enemy secrets to the homefront. I could barely hear her.
“What?” I asked. I was hurrying down 8th avenue towards dance class, and as usual, the chaotic noise of the city- a truck passing, two guys handing out Obama condoms, a decrepit–looking homeless man asking for change- did not help make her voice any clearer.
“He doesn’t snuggle!” she repeated. It was really more of an exclamation.
“Oh no.” I said. “That’s bad.” I looked at my watch. Darnit, ballet class was starting in seven minutes, and I still had ten more blocks to go. I quickened my pace. “What happened exactly?” I asked.
“Well, he spooned me for like two minutes until we fell asleep, and then kaput!” she exclaimed. “I kept trying to wrap myself up in his arms and each time I finally got comfortable, he would flip back over onto his stomach and face the other way,” she said.
“Hmmm…” I responded.
“I ended up snuggling with his stuffed cow the whole night,” she grumbled bitterly.
I laughed, imagining Kayla angrily spooning a stuffed cow while Mark snored beside her.
Then I got serious again. “Well, did you talk to him about it?” I inquired. 51st st! Yes. Go sam, go! I thought, pepping myself on.
“Yea,” she said. “He said he was hot.”
Uh-oh, I thought. I had heard this before.
“Well what happened in the morning?” I asked.
“That’s the worst part,” she said. “He groggily wakes up, gives me a sloppy kiss, and then all of a sudden we were having sex. Talk about no foreplay,” she grumbled. “I didn’t even enjoy it,” she added.
Nothing worse than a guy stabbing at you like a fork into an uncooked turkey, I thought empathetically.
“And then, to make matters worse,” she continued, ”as soon as we were done, he gets up, puts on sweats, and sits down at his desk to check e-mails. He didn’t even come back to bed!” she exclaimed.
“Well, did you ask him to come back?” I asked. 48th st. Only three blocks to go!
“Yes,” she said, “and I asked in the sweetest, sexiest voice possible.” I knew that voice. That voice snared men into obedience like the songs of the sirens. Mark must be a real stickler.
“So what did he say?” I continued. 46th st. Yes! If only the freakin’ Midwestern couple would get out of the middle of the sidewalk, I could get through this light and then be one block away.
Kayla answered me bitterly. “He said, cuddle time is over.”
Ouch, I thought.
I had arrived. I just had to check in, throw on my ballet shoes and leotard and get into the studio. “I’m sorry, Kayla,” I answered. “That sucks. Listen, I’m at dance class, can I call you back a bit later and we can talk about it then?”
“There’s not really anything to talk about,” she responded. “Other than the fact that I am D-O-N-E done with a capital D. Talk to you later,” she answered with newfound resolve.
“Love you!” I yelled into the phone as I raced up the stairs.
During class, I was on the second side of a tondue and batma set when I started thinking about Kayla’s experience.
Brushing my pointed pink foot back and forth across the floor, I realized that Kayla had a good reason to write Mark off. More than anything, I knew, Kayla liked to snuggle. It made her feel safe, she said. And she wasn’t the only woman I knew who felt that way; most of my female acquaintances liked the cuddling piece of companionship as much as, if not more than, the sex. Particularly at night and after the act itself.
So Mark’s high body heat did not bode well for him, even though up until then, he had passed with flying colors. And apparently, had been terrific in bed.
But was his adversity to snuggling really a reason to say “Sayonara?”
For Kayla, it was. Because there was no way that she could ever have a relationship sans snuggling. Period.
For someone else, they may not be able to stand smoking, or snoring, or a frequent fetish for threesomes. Which are all fine to be bothered by, as long as we acknowledge that they do indeed, bother us. And figure out on a scale of irritation, how high they rank compared to other things.
It is important, as we date and have sex, sleep next to someone, eat with them, talk to them, that we know what our deal-breakers are. Everyone has a few things that they simply can’t live with, or in Kayla’s case, without.
So start the 2010 dating year in a productive way, with a clear idea of what your deal breakers, and deal makers are. What absolutely sweeps you off your feet and makes you happy like nothing else? What irritates you so much you want to take a large wooden bat to someone’s head? And what truthfully, though it may bother you or make you slightly more happy, doesn’t really matter all that much in the long run?
Write them down. Seeing your DB’s and DM’s will razor them into your psyche, so the next time you see that guy and he lights up a smoke, you will be able to peace out before he even has a chance to ask for your number. Or when you meet the girl who has musical genius pouring out of her, and you know that music is on your “can’t live without list,” you will know to hang on, at least for a bit.
In 2010, don’t just keep cursing yourself for the stupid repeat dating mistakes you make, just stop making them. With some careful thought and a visual game plan, you will be bound for success, and maybe even love. :)
Happy New Year!
From Meezoog and The Dating Diva