Dating · Life

Pack your bags

I was hanging out on the stoop with Tindude™ on Monday night, drinking as usual. We’re in that early get-to-know-you stage where I still seem normal and sweet (he’s going to see this blog eventually, so it’s not like I can hide the scary shit forever), but time + wine + my penchant for talking toodamnmuch = some skeletons coming out of the closet.

I think my scariest one is the lack of serious relationships for the better part of a decade. He gave me a pass when I explained some of my excuses reasons, but if I were on the other side of that confession, I would probably be wondering just how damaged this girl really is (hint: possibly less than you might think, but more than I might admit). If emotional baggage were measured in physical luggage, I would definitely not be in a carry-on only situation. I imagine it as the same amount of shit I took with me when I moved to Asia for a year: two mismatched suitcases (both overweight), a carry-on, and my backpack. You can fit a lot of hypothetical bodies in there. Don’t forget the cute buttons and quirky patches to decorate them! Misdirection for the win.

At one point he warned me that he might be venturing into TMI territory, but I can honestly say I’ve never been told something that I considered too much to handle. Maybe that says something about me and my lack of boundaries/limits/awareness of social norms, and my own tendencies to overshare (hi, this blog).

Here’s the thing: we’re all kind of damaged and broken and carrying around this fucked up shit, no? You don’t make it to almost 32 (fuck) in the Toronto dating scene without a few bumps and bruises (and the occasional fracture). Or, if you do, you’re not really living. Sure, things happened that sucked a whole lot at the time, but they make for great growth opportunities stories to drunkenly share. And honestly, I find it a bit relieving when someone else has baggage too. I don’t mean a whole cargo plane full of bullshit (been there, done that), but a travel-worn suitcase or two means they’re not afraid of human interaction. Or, if they are afraid of it, they push through the fear get drunk often enough, just like I do.

vodka
I prefer wine, but you get the point.

 

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