Finessing an Awkward Situation

FabFem has a knack for getting herself into uncomfortable/random/weird positions, usually not on purpose.

Fortunately, I recover quickly, or at least I try to.

Courtesy of Dennis Mojado/Creative Commons

Take a recent party I went to. I was meeting someone there, so I arrived alone. I immediately ran into a guy I once went out on a date with and long swooned over (he is fi-iinnn-eee). We ended up on the elevator together, and Fine Guy loudly flirts and makes a comment about my derriere on an elevator full of guys who were strangers...or so I thought.

Until I looked to my left. That's when I saw New Guy. I'd met him about a month ago and was kinda feeling him. I didn't know he'd be at this party.

But did he really just hear Fine Guy talking about my bootie?

The weird smirk on his face told me he did. 

Awkward. Sigh. Only me.

But New Guy took it well. He said he basically shrugged it off as a, "Damn, she got it like that?" kind of deal.

I'm glad he has a sense of humor. In fact, he even seems a little more interested. *Shrug*

The threat of competition perhaps?

Talk back: Tell us about an awkward situation you encountered--and how you handled it.

The Ultimate Dealbreaker

I've been accused of having a 'bleeding heart.' I am forgiving--almost too forgiving at times.

But there is one guy--we'll call him Mr. Dick Wackington, Esquire (name coined by guest blogger Nina Lovehall, who can't stand his @ss)--who keeps trying. But he will never ever, and I mean ever, get back into my good graces.

Why, you may ask? Let me explain.

Last year, I had surgery. It was fairly serious and definitely a huge disruption to my life and my freedom. It meant I couldn't drive for 2 months, and I spent some of that time on crutches.

I had been seeing Mr. Wackington for a few months at the time. He promised to check in on me frequently to make sure I was OK. I figured with his help, and with that of some great friends, neighbors, cousins and my dad and brothers, I'd be just fine.

I was almost right. 

My family, neighbors and friends were indeed fantastic. I didn't want or need for anything because they took good care of me.

But Mr. Wackington? He didn't show up for four days after I had surgery. My dad, less than thrilled to see him at that point, still believed him when Mr. Wackington told my dad he'd come back to check on his baby girl when my dad returned home (two hours away) a week later.

But he didn't keep his promise. Instead, Mr. Wackington told me he didn't have time to come check on me. He was going to happy hour instead. And even as I hobbled around on crutches, I told him not to bother coming by on any day if happy hour was more important than making sure I was OK.

And so, Mr. Wackington disappeared for a few months, just long enough for me to recover and get back on my feet. I run into him out and about every couple of months, and every time I see him (and I do mean every, single, flippin' time), he tells me how "beautiful" he thinks I look, how he messed up, and how I should just let him make it up to me. One time, he told me I should let him buy me a drink as part of his "penitence" for what he did. Seriously?

I've responded on more than one occasion that Mr. Wackington can kiss my @ss. Yes, I actually said that, and I've actually said worse, depending on how hard he presses me. Like, he really gets all up in my personal space and has a difficult time taking "no" for an answer.

But it's simple--If he didn't want to be around when I was at my worst, he definitely doesn't deserve me at my best. Most recently, he had a friend lobbying me on his behalf, telling me how very sorry Mr. Wackington is for treating me the way he did, how I could've been The One, etc.

Sigh. Gimme a break.

My dad says that men make mistakes, and I get that. But I can't be with someone who I can't trust to have my back when I need it most. That time period was one of the few times in my life where I felt almost totally dependent on other people. And Mr. Wackington gave me his @ss to kiss, and he was downright mean and nasty about it. Not cool.

So it doesn't matter how many times he apologizes or how "beautiful" he thinks I look now that I've recovered from the surgery and lost a few pounds, to boot. It's a wrap.

*Sings* -- He must not know 'bout me...To the left, to the left.

Talk back: What is your ultimate dealbreaker?

Related: Cleaning House: Cutting Stragglers Off & Starting Anew

Why I'll Start Listening to My Gut

There was something about him that I knew just wasn't right.

Yet I still didn't listen to my gut, which said, don't walk, but RUN away.

Maybe it was the fact that his very first question was, "Is that your real hair?"

Or, maybe it was that his second question was, "When are you cooking dinner for me?" To which I responded that he shouldn't expect a woman to cook for him when he first meets her, and if he wanted to get to know me, he'd have to take me out instead. Then, I walked away.

(Photo credit: Flickr user @Sarah_Ackerman)

He grabbed my hand and pulled me back. Against my better judgment, I stayed and talked a while longer. We exchanged numbers, and I'd come to regret that decision at 9 a.m. the next morning--a Sunday, when he sent me the first of four texts and phone calls I'd receive before noon that day.

Among his texts: "So why did you give me your number?"

Me: "Because you asked for it." [Hey, if you ask a stupid question, you get a stupid answer.]

Him: "So you give your number to every guy who asks for it?" 

Me: *blank stare* at my phone, deciding not to validate such foolishness with an answer.

The funny thing is he was a cutie. So, why was he so pressed?

Probably because he's an absolute jerk.

I managed not to talk to him for another day or so. Then we finally had a phone conversation. He told me he couldn't tell me his profession because it was "very important" but assured me he had a "great job." He told me--for the second time (the first being when he bragged when we met)--about the several overseas trips he has planned to various countries next year. I, probably poorly so, feigned interest, while making a mental note that he hadn't bothered to ask me a single thing about myself, but...

...then came the killer question: "So, why are you single?"

Mind you, this was after I very briefly explained that I hadn't traveled much for pleasure recently because of family obligations following the death of my mother. Why on earth would you then ask me why I'm single? Is it not clear I've been a little busy...and um, traumatized? Plus, I told him that generally, women don't like to be asked why they're single. "Well, it's never been a problem for me," he informed me. (Me: thinking to myself--probably because they just never called you again. Sigh.)

The conversation continued to go downhill from there. He asked me my sign. "Libra," I told him. He then told me that he's a Libra, too, and that Libras don't get along. And, by the way, he added, if I want to see him, I should let him know, but otherwise, it was no sweat off of his back.

Really? Seriously?

Yes, he really said that.

I took a deep breath and told him to have a good evening. He hasn't called since. Thank God.

And next time, I'll listen to my gut.

Talk back: Have you ever ignored a gut feeling and found yourself regretting it later? Tell us about it.