GRRR….I hate boys! Ok, maybe not really, but it’s been one of those weeks where I’ve wanted to post that as my Facebook status every day. I refrained (just barely) as it would have been slightly melodramatic (even for me) and generated much attention-seeking Facebook sympathy. Besides, a blog posting is much more cathartic and the Mayor is about 300% less likely to read it.

While we’re on the subject of things I hate. I also hate the word platonic. It sounds awful. All blocky and thick on your tongue. I always associate it with the Titanic for some reason and then imagine my platonic friendships (made of legos of course) being gleefully sunk and demolished by an iceberg. Oddly enough, this is a real thing (the lego Titanic thingy):
Anyway, that picture pretty much sums up why I don’t have any platonic friends— they keep hitting icebergs and drowning.

If someone suggests that you become platonic friends (not just friends, but platonic friends) it’s because they aren’t interested in you in any other way. For serious. The only time I’ve ever said those words together is when someone really liked me (like creepy stalker liking), and I wasn’t interested in the least, but didn’t want to hurt their feelings. So I offered the platonic friendship olive branch, and avoided them like the plague afterwards. Don’t ever accept that branch! Even if you’re drowning. It’s like wanting a Ferrari and someone offering you a Honda Civic instead. Hey, it’s still a car; gets you from point A to B, right? Umm…I guess? Someone is missing the point here — don’t let it be you! Hondas are nice and all, but that’s not what you wanted. Whether or not you can afford the Ferrari, deserve the Ferrari, or find the Ferrari practical is also not the point. Seriously, if one of you does not feel “platonically” inclined (read: has romantic feelings) towards the other — it won’t work.

So, as you can probably guess by now, the Mayor suggested that we be platonic friends (of course a lot of other things happened before we got to this point). I channeled my inner Lady Gaga and sang some Bad Romance lyrics in response:

I want your love
And I want your revenge
I want your love
I don’t wanna be friends

And because the French version sounds way sweeter and only slightly less desperate and needy:

Je veux ton amour
Et je veux ta revenge
Je veux ton amour
I don’t wanna be friends

I don’t think he got the French part. Either way, I didn’t really sing Lady Gaga to him, but I did say in my no, I want this, matter-of-fact voice (the one that seems to make men at work lose their minds and start screaming at me), but I don’t wanna be friends. And now we aren’t…anything. *le shrug*

I probably should back up about two hours to explain how we got to this point. Except I don’t really know how it started. Maybe we were always at that point. On Tuesday, we went to see a movie at the start of the snow storm. 2 hours and 45 minutes into The Wolf of Wall Street (which I hated and he loved), I made an innocuous comment about our being on a date which resulted in a lecture from the Mayor. As the snow fell heavy outside the parking garage, he patiently explained why were weren’t dating. How if this were an actual date, he would do considerate things like show up on time and buy tickets — he went into excruciating detail. Suffice to say, I did not take that well and a general airing of grievances soon followed.

[It’s always difficult to recount what someone else said vice what I heard. I, as often as not, hear with my feelings and my emotions which makes many a conversation a bit fuzzy at the edges. So he may have said something he felt was as innocuous as my dating comment, but that’s not what I heard.]

Of course, the Mayor and I have always been running headlong into an expiration date as February 15th is the day I depart for a 9.5 month deployment. I saw that date as a hard stop — a do not go past this point date, but go fast until you get to this point. He saw the entire situation as a blinking caution sign and created or implemented his own system — the don’t-call-this-a-date system — to protect himself. I don’t blame him. I can barely control my own heart, I don’t want responsibility for anyone else’s.

Back to The End Game Argument: I don’t wanna be friends. It’s true. I didn’t. I still don’t. I have enough friends. Platonic and Best and Lifelong and Girls and Boys and Single and Married, etc. I don’t need anymore non-kissing friends. I want passion. I want hugs and kisses and a ton of affection from a man to whom I am very attracted and who is equally attracted to me (what single girl doesn’t?). All the stuff that is not remotely Titanic Platonic love.

I don’t know how all of this (the argument and the not/dating relationship) began, but this was definitely where it ended. In the parking garage as the snow fell. I don’t wanna be friends, I said. Meaning: there is nothing platonic about my exquisite like for you. I don’t know what he heard, but his response was final and deafening. He sat back and completely disengaged from the entire situation. I could see it as it happened. It was like watching a scary movie where the square fluorescent lights overhead go off one at a time as the zombies get closer and the heavy drum beat goes dsh, dsh, dsh, dsh as he brought the wall down between us. Cue Abba:

That’s how we ended the game. Of course there were no winners here. I think my ego hurts or maybe it’s my heart — I can never keep those two straight. Isn’t it funny how you can be within a breath’s distance of someone one day and in the next instant– faster than you can say parking garage showdown– they are further from you than the Milky Way and twice as cold as an Arctic Tundra.

Though we’ve had three snow days in a row and I would like nothing more than to be snowed-in with the Mayor, creating a ruckus in his stressful house, making up our own songs, or having 4-layered conversations, I don’t think I would change my answer. I don’t want to be your friend, mate (I’ve been watching a lot of Downton Abbey — it’s a coping mechanism). I want romance and affection and, ultimately, love and commitment. Settling into platonic friendship is none of those things. In the words of Jane Austen, I have no notion of loving people by halves; it is not my nature. I am an all or nothing type of girl after all.

I’m still a fan of the Mayor, but the Mayor was never interested in buying the house. At least not pre-deployment. All of which I knew ahead of time. But if you ever find yourself trying to convince someone that you are worth their time, just let it go. Your actual platonic friends will see you through it.

3 Comment on “Single Girl Problems: Platonic Friends

  1. Pingback: Just When You Thought It Couldn’t Get Worse… | Everyday Glamour

  2. Pingback: Single Girl Problems: How to Manufacture a Relationship | Everyday Glamour

  3. Pingback: Single Girl Problems: How to Create Your Own Monsoon Season | Pretty For A Black Girl

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