Just Say NO. . .

Who ever coined the phrase “Looks don’t matter?”  Were they buying a car? Picking out a pet?  Choosing a friend?  It is an absolutely admirable thought. . .we should not discriminate. . .but yet, we should be discriminating.

When I was almost eighteen, I broke up with a long-time boyfriend of almost three years.  I was about to graduate from high school, embark upon college, and write new chapters in my life.  I wasn’t interested in becoming intertwined within another long-term relationship, but felt out of the “dating loop,” since I hadn’t been “available” for such a long time.  I know what you are thinking, but three years is an awful long time–a lifetime, if you will, in adolescent years.

I worked at a local five-and-dime with a childhood girlfriend of mine, two young men about my age, and several seasoned veterans of the store.  One of the guys was tall, lanky, short hair-cut, wore high-water blue jeans, white socks, and dress shoes.  Not cool, in the seventies.  When he asked me out, I consulted my girlfriend who also worked there.  I think I was hoping my friend would tell me something like, “You don’t want to do that, haven’t you noticed that third eye in the middle of his forehead?”  She didn’t.  I was searching for a reason to say no. An easy way to say no.  He seemed nice enough, but there was no attraction whatsoever for me, and this was long before I had learned to tell anyone no, about anything.  There was just something weird about him.  Just not right.  Other than that, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.  When he asked me to go to a movie with him, I was caught completely off guard, panicked, told him sure, and immediately started beating myself over the head with an imaginary two by four.  I feared hurting his feelings.  I ignored my gut feelings.

So, my friend and I discussed it.  We even considered he’d possibly never had a date before.  Maybe I had been picked by the powers that be, to be the martyr.  I felt sorry for him.  I swallowed hard, and in a blind moment, even went so far to say, “Looks don’t matter, right?  I might have fun.  Only once.”  Once I’d resigned myself to giving it a try, I was determined I would go through with it.  I still wanted to eat bugs. . .be sick. . .fall through a crack in the sidewalk.  Wouldn’t all those things just prolong the inevitable?  Every time he spotted me in the store, he would grin a knowing grin.  I got the feeling he was much happier with himself and this date than I was.  I had to bear this for two more days.  It didn’t get any easier.  It actually got worse.  I literally worked up a nervous stomach.  Why didn’t God make us to only be attracted to who are attracted to us?  Everything would be so much easier.  No one-sided love affairs; no stalkers.  Free will sometimes has it’s downside! 

Friday night came, and he picked me up for the drive-in movie.  An indoor theater would have been safer, I reasoned, quietly to myself.  I don’t remember what movie we saw; I remember wanting the night to come to a rapid end, and clinging to the passenger side door without trying to be too obvious.  “Popcorn and Coke?” “No, thank you.”  He wanted me to scoot over, so he could put his arm around me.  I wasn’t having any of that, either.  On the way home, I was so delirious with the anticipation of getting out of his car, I didn’t anticipate anything else.  “Hungry?“  “No.“  As we pulled into my driveway, he asked if he could kiss me goodnight.  Hadn’t calculated that one into the equation.  Ugh.  It was a night full of “no.”  I don’t know what possessed me, but I let him kiss me.  In a twisted kind of way, I felt like I could give him that much.  After all, I was in my own driveway, could jump out of the car, lean into the window and say,  “It was fun. Thank you.”  In his defense, I have to say he was a gentleman.

When he asked me out again, I quickly said, “No.” I did add, “Thank you!”  No, looks might not matter, but my goodness, weird does.  Recognize it.  Know it. Don’t give in to it.  Listen to your gut.  And never, ever, feel like you owe someone something when you really don’t.  A few years later, I read his name in the newspaper for domestic battery. I knew something just wasn’t quite right. I guess, in another twisted way, I should be grateful to him for setting me on the path to learning to say NO.