I was really wishing for something like this to happen to me last week:
I guess I was feeling a little lonely. And stuck. And discouraged by my enfeebling fear of dating.
I longed for simpler times, when my biggest fears (sharks & flying) were common ones, and fodder for so much laughter.
A whole decade ago, on a trip to the Caribbean, Weather Girl & Mrs. G got to witness my reaction to both phobias. Mrs. G, do you remember how I heard nothing when you told me you lost your license, (or was it your passport)? I couldn’t hear you because the PLANE WAS TAKING OFF AND WE WERE ALL ABOUT TO DIE AND I HAD NOT DISCOVERED XANAX YET AND IT WAS TOO EARLY TO GET DRUNK.
And Weather Girl, do you recall how I couldn’t bring myself to snorkel? We both know I lied about the mask not fitting because I was certain THERE WERE FLESH-CRAVING SHARKS IN THAT WATER AND SURELY THIS IS HOW I WILL DIE. Nothing was getting me in deeper than my ankles.
10 years later, and the fear of sharks has left me (see this post). And for flying there is the best thing since the cure for polio, Xanax. But what is there for my fear of dating? Sedation and drunkenness are ill advised, I’ve heard.* Avoidance seems to be working well, but my Inner Therapist knows better, and is seeing to it that I stay aware of this issue.**
For now I’ll just stay ankle deep, but take baby steps toward feeling comfortable enough for more dates. Though I secretly hope old age and 17 cats come first. (Hmmph. Inner Therapist just said “Not funny, Louise.” So humorless.)
|Like Xanax, but better.|
Truth be told, I’m not a complete basket case. I did let a guy bring me some fresh, local peaches last week. All I did was mention that I like them. And he brought them to me. Which was very sweet, and not nearly as horrifying as I thought it might be.
The taste of those peaches made me forget my fears for a moment. I made rustic little pies with them last Friday, which were shared with my closest friends, and eaten without forks over the pans they were baked on.
The longing for a guy to pitch woo outside my window had nearly disappeared by then. Any traces of it were erased by that moment, no doubt. Which only proves that I have the best friends in the world. And supports my long held theory that pie heals.
More Food, Less Pain,
*And maybe experienced.
**And is charging me $110.00 for every 50 minutes I avoid it.