I didn’t want to end yesterday’s post about the Manchild with something so embarrassing, but that’s exactly what happened that night: I kissed him goodbye, climbed into bed and cried myself to sleep.
It’s embarrassing because the truth is that I never even really liked the Manchild all that much. Oh, don’t get me wrong, he had some really good qualities: he was attractive, tall, outgoing, a good dancer, great in bed, always paid for dates, brought me around his friends, and was affectionate in public, just to name a few. And he was fun, really fun to be around. I can’t be a total hater, because I dated him for 3 months and so obviously there were things I liked.
But there were also several things I didn’t like about him. His laugh was so loud and over the top that sometimes I’d have to put forth a significant effort just to keep from rolling my eyes. Sometimes out of nowhere he would laugh hilariously, and when I’d ask what was so funny he would go on to tell me something that wasn’t funny AT ALL. He thought he was way funnier than he actually was.
Even though he was charming on the surface, he was actually very dorky, and didn’t have the swagger that I generally find attractive in a guy. I once told my friend that it was his height (6’3″) that gave him the aura of being smooth, but if he were the same exact person but was only 5’7″ I would have called him a cornball.
He’s 32 years old and has a roommate even though he can afford to live by himself. He said that he had lived by himself for awhile but he decided to have a roommate because he likes to always be doing something, and, as he said, with a roommate even if you’re just playing video games and drinking beer at least you’re doing something. Oh, the manchild warning signs were there, why didn’t I recognize them?!
He has a fauxhawk.
He never offered to walk me to my car when I was leaving his apartment, despite the fact that his neighborhood is kind of rough, and he never said, “Let me know when you get home.” EVERYONE I know says “Let me know when you get home,” even my girlfriends. This happened for the first time on our second date, but even though it bothered me I never said anything. After a few times of it happening I learned that I could avoid the issue entirely by sleeping over instead of leaving.
He only texted me to make plans, never to ask how I was. Instead of attributing this to a lack of interest on his part, I decided that maybe I wasn’t showing enough interest on my end. So I started sending him random “How’s it going?” messages. He would respond but still never initiated.
I never looked at him and thought, “Wow, I really like him.” When we were apart I never pictured his face and thought, “Oh he’s so cute,” it was always, “I guess he is attractive but I don’t think he’s my type.” The truth is that I was so addicted to the good sex and having someone to do things with that I was willing to turn a blind eye to all of these things that should have been dealbreakers.
When all is said and done, even though deep down I knew it would never work out and that we were not on the same level, I deluded myself into thinking that it could turn into something real. And so the hardest thing part of all of this is trying to figure out why?