ice queen of hearts

After another weekend seeing Trouble (group situation, not one on one) and another night of my wine goggles resulting in some kissing and canoodling with a new man, I have started to wonder about another side of this dating game.

Is it worse meeting no one, or constantly meeting the wrong men? 

On paper, the guy I met on Saturday night I guess wasn’t what you would instantly clarify as wrong. He wasn’t a tattooed, pierced, criminal with no job who spoke derogatorily to females – you know, the type you would just love to take home to your parents…he was quite the opposite, probably someone my mother would have loved if I had given it a chance. He was tall, funny, kind with genuine chat. Like a gentleman, he walked me home from the bar and kissed me goodnight on the doorstep. I was the one that invited him in – despite knowing that I would not be sleeping with him that night. He kissed and cuddled me and didn’t push his luck aiming for a home run. At the time, I thought it was great fun – some pretty heated passion to be honest but I stuck to my guns and didn’t go the full distance. But not only was I impressed with that at the time, but we also talked – a lot, for hours infact. While I lay somewhat uncomfortably in his arms (still not one for a cuddle), he talked about my home, about his home, asked me questions about my life away from home, about his background, his career, asking about mine – he genuinely was a nice guy. But as soon as we woke up and he got out of bed to get dressed, he bent down to give me a kiss while I lay wrapped in my clean, white sheets and asked me when it suited to take me for a coffee or a drink this week.

I instantly pulled the sheets a little tighter around my now slightly dirty feeling body. “Whenever” I meekly replied.

I knew instantly I was never going to go on a date with this guy. Surprise surprise huh; I didn’t like him. Again. I never do. But why – why do I never like them? Unless they’re the guys who don’t like me – enter No Name and The Rugby Boy, then I seem to be slightly interested. Talk about a paradigm shift.

So I have to wonder, are these men actually wrong? I asked a friend this very question and in return they dug a little too deep in to my inner psyche. The theory was then posed that perhaps I subconsciously have barriers up when it comes to meeting someone, thus anyone I do meet I automatically deem as wrong? Alright Freud, I need a friend not a psychoanalyst.

Are they right? Is it me who’s wrong, not the men? Will I continually not allow anyone to break said barriers or meet the expectations fabricated from the past. If so, it seems I may forever be known as the cold girl with no feelings (when sober).

Opinions and advice welcome…

xo ice queen of hearts

distanced hearts club ♥


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