I'm a two

This morning I had my yearly check-me-for-moles-and-skin-cancer appointment.  It's important to have those appointments for everyone - but especially for us pasty people.

I ended up arriving early* and got seated into the exam room pretty quickly by an overly-exuberant guy.  I don't know what his function is but he's also the guy who answers the phone sometimes and also books follow up appointments. 

Anyway, we're in a closed room and he's asking me all the standard questions and then he looks at me critically and says, "Oh.  You're a two."

I must've looked a bit surprised...I mean, here I was, at 7:30 in the morning, looking as cute as I could muster without having a full mug of coffee, but wow.  Honesty hurts.

Because as soon as this dude leaves the door, I've got to strip down for a hot doctor to check my skin.  As in every inch of my body.  Under the ever so complimentary fluorescent lights.  And if anything bolsters my confidence in these situations, it's having someone look at you critically and then rank you. 

OUT LOUD.

So then he laughs and turns bright red and explains that "two" is just a way to describe people's skin color.  1 is people who are albino, 2 are people "like me", 3 are "typical" Caucasians, 4 are people who are Hispanic, and 5 are people who are "super dark."  I didn't ask where Asians and any other ethnicity fell into place because I felt pretty certain I could fill in the blanks.

So I made some paltry excuse of a joke like, "Wow.  Sorry. I thought you meant something else at first.  I just haven't had my coffee yet." And I pointed to the travel mug on the table next to me.

Then, he stammers, and says, "No.  You're a hottie. I definitely wasn't rating you as a two."

I just blinked.  Because, now what does one say?

He blushes, then says, "Sorry, I'm not thinking.  I haven't had any coffee yet.  Can I smell yours?"

Um.  What?

Oh! He means my coffee.

Nope.  That doesn't make it any less weird.

I opted to laugh as if he was kidding.  He laughed.  And then gave me a paper gown.

But you know what?  I'm super appreciative of him - because no matter how compliments come about, it was nice to receive one. 

Even when I'm a two.


* This is a huge accomplishment.  The appointment was WAY down south in a hospital that is super hard to navigate.  I didn't remember which suite he was in and I didn't write it down when they called for the appointment reminder.  In fact, as the doors were closing on the elevator, I thought, "Crap.  I should've probably looked at the little informational thing in the lobby to double check." 

But I got to the right suite, even though it was twisty-turny, on the first time.  Early.  I'm kind of my own hero.

Well, that sucked.

Know how people are all, "Give nice guys a chance?" 

For the past 15 years, thought I did... but I guess I never really did.  The last few months, I've had an opportunity to look back at the guys I've chosen routinely and realized that they've all had some serious issues right from the get go. 

The ones I've picked to stay with had issues with intimacy, issues with their moms, issues with their dads, or issues with me.  But in all cases, they strummed a chord right on my heart strings - that chord being: "Stay.  Help Me.  Fix me."

And apparently that chord always works with me.

In truth, it doesn't mean that they weren't nice, but it does mean that they had some red flags.

So each time, when something ended, I found myself inching the door to the possibility of a lasting love a little more closed.  I have believed that those dreams - those nice things - weren't for me. 

The guys I passed up?  They were the nice ones.  The guys who treated me the way I should be treated - right from the get go.  But the chord that they strummed never seemed melodic to me. I chalked it up to the chemistry not being there and moved on.

Ending the relationship with Joe, was a great time to realize that the problem wasn't with ME.  It's with the people I've continually picked.  Which, okay, WAS with me.  But hopefully you get what I mean.

I took the time to re-calibrate my heart strings. And I realized that the ones that called for help weren't quite as melodic as I had thought.  And the ones that offered genuine feelings of happiness and love sounded better than I ever believed.

So this past month, when I had the opportunity to really look love in the eyes, I did.

It started with a wonderful question - something along the lines of "Are you ready, really ready to be in love?  Are you ready in your heart and your mind?"

I looked within me, brushed off my newly re-vamped heart strings, and answered, "Yes."

And it was WONDERFUL. The act of falling in love is an amazing feeling.  It's fast, it's all consuming, and it feels beautiful.  Like my blinders have been ripped off my eyes - and now I could start to see life's full beauty - which includes ME.

I found myself peering through the crack in the door to lasting love.  I found myself lured by it's charm.  I started to (gasp!) hope.  And when my brain tried to tell my heart to slow down, I reminded it that THIS type of story happens to others.  Why not me?  Why not us?  Why not now?

We even said several times that it felt like we were 15 again - to feel like the whole world was ahead of us and that we could figure out anything that came our way.

To me, it felt like the first part of a drop on a roller coaster ride.  I was scared, white-knuckling it...until something inside me encouraged me to just let go; to just enjoy it.

And oh, how I enjoyed it.  Because that feeling?  It's amazing; intoxicating; heart-stoppingly beautiful.

Until it wasn't.

Realistically, I've recounted the weirdness of what happened many times with my friends and they all believe that something is clearly going on with him.  And from the stories he told me about some of the girls that he met, they all reacted with similar disbelief when things ended.  Judging from the outside looking in, this seems to be his MO.

So, logically, I know it's not me.  Or maybe it is.  But I know that even if his opinion of me and us changed that quickly, it doesn't have anything to do with me.  Yeah, yeah...maybe he got scared...but maybe he was just playing me.  Maybe he's just damaged goods with entirely too high of standards.  No matter how hard I try, I can't figure out what happened.

Because to me, even if I got weird vibes or mixed messages, I'd want to ride the roller coaster again.

But eesh.  It still hurts.  Just like the heartbreaks of 15 year olds.

So how is it that I'm more upset about things ending with a man that I haven't known nearly long enough than ones that I've stayed with for entirely too long?

Because my heart strings strummed a song that seemed to be in tune with his (and even I puked in my mouth with how cheesy that sounded).  But that tune? It was one of the most amazing things I've felt and heard.

So here I am.  Sad, disappointed, and hurt.  Maybe this is the rebound relationship effect.  Or maybe it's because we really could've made it work.

But I do know this: I need time to repair the damage - to my heart strings and my pride.

So that the next time a nice guy asks if I'm really ready - for love and all the wonders it holds - I'll have the courage to say yes.  I'll have the courage to walk through that door, down the aisle, and wherever else that path leads.