Meal Time

Thank goodness for Google!  After the new guy talks to me and says he’ll call and then doesn’t for two days I started to wonder if he’s ghosting me.  So . . . I went to Google and was informed that guys don’t like to talk about nothing.  

No shit.  That’s all I talk about.  So . . . he may like me still but doesn’t want to talk.  Also, guys get busy and don’t multitask well so they forget their phone or leave it in another room, or ignore it and it’s just because they’re busy.  

When he phoned me tonight I tried to act all nonchalant but really I was like “Wow!  Google was right!”  I did notice he bailed really quickly to start the bbq when I started to ramble.  I’m not sure about this . . . a lot of hurt in his life I think. So . . . living out in the country, would we ever see anyone?  

Would it be life in the military all over again . . . sitting at the table with a stern father.

“No talking at the table. Shut up and eat your food,” he would say.  He’d gobble his down and then sit back with a smoke.  He sat right beside me.  I’d start to wheeze and cough, and try to suck air in through my mouth.  “Eat with your mouth closed,” he’d say.

So I planned each little bite, knowing I could take a breath as my fork came up to my mouth. “There’s starving children in Africa, eat your food.”  I always wondered how my chowing down would help those children in Africa. Like, do they want me to send my food over to them, cause they can have it.

“If you don’t eat that,” my mother would say, “I’m going to dump it over your head.”  And she did it, too, standing me in the bathtub, clothes and all, cackling,  and dumping the whole plate of venison, mashed potatoes with mounds of margarine and small wrinkled green pea balls over my little head while I wailed in humiliation.  It has become a family joke.

Is love enough?  If I love myself now, and I’m living on my own quite happily, could I love someone enough to teach them to live happily?  Is it even my job?  Why do hurting men gravitate towards me?  Somehow, I think, I pick them out of the crowd and work at them. I’m like the swimming instructor standing in the pool playing the little “Chop, Chop, Timber” game. Chop! Chop! Timber!! – YouTube

So . . . do I have the confidence, enthusiasm and honest desire to teach a man to swim?  

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