Peering like a flower never taught to grow...*
The question, so flippant but so intent, tumbles thickly from my numb, drunken lips.
What the hell is wrong with me?
It's a rhetorical query that many utter thoughtlessly. I mull it over like a thesis statement, the crux of a new scientific theory, the pivotal first sentence of that first chapter of that first bestselling novel all us wannabe writers keep envisioning.
I'm trying to accept the idea that I'll most likely be alone for a great deal of time. The question gnaws at me, though. I wonder why I'm so inept or so unlucky in love, why I seem to always get overlooked. Am I really that pathetic and unlikable of a person that I don't even deserve a chance?
I have my bad qualities, for sure. I'm a cynic -- though not a misanthrope. I'm awkward; ungainly, and it probably doesn't help my romantic fortunes that I'm rather average-looking -- not handsomely strong-jawed, sharp-edged and angular. For all my writerly aspirations, I'm downright awful at expressing my emotions -- far too afraid of rejection to speak a fraction of what I think.
But, as guys go, I like to think I'm a good one. Maybe I flatter myself, maybe most of this is vain puffery (or it's the booze talking!), but it's what I honestly believe.
I think I'm as attentive a partner as a woman could ask for. I can be generous and accomodating to a fault, never obstinate or priggish. I'm patient, resilient, sympathetic, courteous and polite. I can be committed without being dependent, and I value autonomy, creativity and intelligence in a prospective mate.
I'm not rich and probably never will be, but I like to think I'm successful. I excel at what I do and take pride in my work, and to me, that's more important than being an associate vice president of something and pulling down six figures.
And, yet, no matter how much (or little) I have to offer, I always fall short. Friends and acquaintances I admire never have any interest in dating me, and any new prospects I meet will rarely acknowledge me or return my calls after the first date.
What is it about me that's so unlikable? I guess I have the rest of my life to figure that out.
*=The headline of this post is a lyric from the Five Iron Frenzy song "Car."