Boys Are Weird.

Auspicious, Confucius

Auspicious, Confucius

I am forty years old.  At least once a day, I think, “Boys are weird.”  When I have this phrase ride through my head like a worn, cliched bumper sticker, as it has for the last twenty-five-plus years, I am not thinking of my eight-year old son, nay– I am thinking of adult men.  My masculine peers.  It does not help at all that with my burgeoning singlehood, there is a new awareness of malekind that I hadn’t previously studied before.  They’re comin’ out of the woodwork, ya’ll.

I mean, yeah, I’ve had Pan around for a decade plus, but he’s atypical.  (If you know us and our situation, just looking at our divorce will tell you that.)  That’s not to say he isn’t strange, it’s just a weirdness that I’m perhaps used to.  When I think that thought about *him* it is usually out of resignation that I don’t want to understand him, or he doesn’t want to understand me, or some such nonsense.  It’s more lack of trying with us, not so much me stepping back and mentally saying, “WHAT?!” out of sheer bafflement, which is what is happening on the regulars now.

There really has been so much of it lately.  Much of it is misguided flirting.  Or that’s what I think it is, anyway.  On Friday we went to get my iphone set up– Pan and I, kidlet in tow– and the tryin’-hard-to-be-hip Dad type behind the counter made eye contact and gave me the *wink*-wiggle-eyebrow-twice thing.  With Pan standing there.  I couldn’t help but wonder if there was an invisible sign that said “Currently separated” on us.  Granted, we’re not holding hands or anything, but we wouldn’t have been anyway, even if we were happily married or whatever.  (Pan’s not really a hand-holder.)  I just don’t get it– things between us have changed, but they don’t know that.

After that we went to get some really yum burgers, and as I walked past a table of five guys (not the name of the burger place, incidentally) to get my drink, one of them mutters, “Daaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmmnnnnnn…” under his breath.  Three of them suddenly needed refills.  I’m standing there at the straws, thinking, “Really?!”

Don’t get me wrong– I don’t *hate* the attention, in fact there is a very select few that I actually love it from, and from that elite group of people, I’ll encourage the behavior.  I’m just saying.  It’s weird.  I’m not really sure why it’s happening in such volumes now, and from such strange areas of the male population.

Or really, all areas.  How do strangers know that I’m not with Pan?  Why are married men hitting on me so much?  Why is sending me graphic photos in any way flirtatious?  (Seriously dudes– if you leave this essay with one takeaway:  give it a rest on the mofo photos.  They do not make me think, “I NEED THAT!”  Ever.  This is not the way to endear yourself to any sort of girl you want in your life, I promise.  Just don’t.)  I’m starting to think there is some playbook on how to be icky.  It’s so predictable that the one cutie that is varying from the pattern– well, let’s just say I could gobble up that one with a spoon….  Yay for originality and genuine interest, or I would be cray-cray.

I often wonder if gay couples have it a little easier in that department, if knowing your own sex informs your relationship for the better.  As it is with me and my straight lifestyle, I am constantly driven to the *epiphany* that males are so different from me, from the women I know, as if it is a new thought I’m having for the first time– all over again.  It surprises me, and I think that is because after forty years, maybe they could be a little more predictable?


Jan 27, 2015 | Category: Just A Thought | Comments: none | Tags: ,

 


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