Every man is the wrong one!
Last time it was a breakfast egg. The man who had spent the night with me was sitting in my kitchen in the morning, I set the table and asked him if he wanted to eat an egg. He affirmed, I asked: soft or hard? And then the man, 1.90 tall, broad-shouldered and well-rested, frowned and said: "Yes, mmh ... my egg, soft or hard, how would I like it?" He rocked his head back and forth, leaning back, burying his face in his hands, muttering "egg, egg, egg". He looked into the air, he looked out the window, then back at the two eggs in my hand, he continued his soliloquy: "Soft or hard, the egg, yes, how, well, what do I want?" For my part, I knew exactly what I wanted at that time: that this man, after eating his breakfast with or without an egg, leaves my apartment and does not come back.
You can find that petty, humorless, totally stupid, I do not want to contradict it. A man with a small decision weakness, where is the problem? Except that maybe he's a - well, a sissy. And that men who do not know what they want, have to expect deduction.
Thumbs up or thumbs down
Deduction does not exist with me. With me there are only thumbs up or thumbs down. And down is damn fast. Lack of decision, ugly shoes, bad jokes, wrong comments, education gaps - and I'm out. Once I came out of the cinema with a very handsome man, we walked around the corner in a pub and talked about film adaptations. I mentioned "Lolita" by Vladimir Nabokov and the two films. The handsome man did not know Lolita. It was not the book, not the films, that Lolita is synonymous with child-woman, was new to him. I leaned over to the next table, where four young men sat, and asked what they thought of Lolita. One of them grinned, stood up and said, "Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins, my sin, my soul." These are the first two sentences of the novel. The man who quoted her was 20 years younger than me, otherwise I would have changed my table immediately. I did not meet again with the man who did not know Lolita.
Laughter like incomprehension
If you have been single for three years and describe his friends such experiences, you get as much laughter as incomprehension. "God, are you picky," is the one sort of comment, the other is: "You really have one on the swatter!" The latter is probably closer to the truth. Because what comes along as a completely exaggerated claim to the men (flawlessness!), Is in truth an immediate bodily reaction: shame! I am ashamed of myself. I'm afraid the man's weakness is devaluing me. I see myself and the man in front of an invisible third person, a judgment is made, and it is devastating. This is of course highly neurotic, but that's not what you're looking for, I think it's annoying.
Luckily I did not smile at him
In fact, I can not even quietly swarm in front of me, without wanting to sink into the ground shortly thereafter. Like the hairdresser the other day, where I watched a really cool-looking guy in the mirror. The hair dresser brought him a yogic tea, which had a slight spiciness, she said, and the cool guy looked smart and said, "Yeah, sure, that's the ginger." For ten minutes I had tied up a guy who assigned a wrong article to the ginger. I thought: Luckily, I did not smile at him. And: Send your children to better schools for longer. After that I scared myself before myself. Because I realized that I really do not want to meet anyone and that I am fully committed to managing my own shortcomings. There is no room in my life for someone else's.
