Hi, My Name is Hypocrite

(Picks head up from desk in desperation and shame). Urgh, I'm such a little hypocrite.  No, "little" is flattering.  "Little" implies that I'm only moderately guilty. I'm such a big hypocrite.  I walk around with my morals and values, guidelines and scruples and then throw them all out the window when I get some fancy words from a handsome face.  Well, fancy words sent via text from fingers that belong to someone with a handsome face.

As I've complained about said before, I have a few gentlemen floating around in cyberspace communicating with me in some way, shape or form, mostly via text.  Oh, sidenote, I got a really good one this morning on Plentyoffish.  Although not the least bit attractive in my opinion and probably bordering on unattractive to most people, this young man gave me an actual grocery list of qualifications just to communicate with him and didn't even so much as start off with a greeting or salutation.  But, the funny part is, I've gotten this same grocery list, word for word, from him on three prior occasions on different dating sites over, eh, the last three years.  In order to even contact him, according to his stipulations, I'd have to live in one of five predetermined cities all within reasonable driving distance from his 3-bedroom condo that his father purchased for him (supposed to be impressive???) or be willing to travel to him, like ALL the same things he does, including cards and board games (thrilling), and be willing to only text him at the phone number that he (brace for the weirdness) spelled out in word-form.  That one was too good not to share; I apologize for the interruption.

So, remember that completely inappropriate email that I got from Mr. Too Many Words?  The one where he shared entirely too much information about his (clears throat) social life?  Yeah...remember how upset I got, so appalled that I considered cutting off all communication with him totally?  That girl was strong-willed and stood by her ladylike morals.  This girl you're talking to today...not so much.

Since I decided to end my two-months of self-imposed dating theatrics, I contacted the guys that are still out there hanging around and gave them my phone number for texting/calling (I'm learning!  I added calling! See "The Male Perspective").  Within a matter of hours, Mr. Italian graced my phone with a "Hello!" text message.  We started casually conversing, talking about things we liked to do in our off-time, how much we had to work, blah blah blah.  Somehow we started talking about drinking, which led to a rather amusing conversation about parties, past and present, which inevitably led to my downfall.

For a few minutes, we just skated around inappropriate, doing elaborate figure-eights and letting the tips of our skates cross the line and then yanked them back.  But, at some point, Mr. Italian pushed me right in the middle of the thin ice of inappropriateness and I fell right in, laughing and giggling like a little schoolgirl.  And by inappropriate, I mean suggestive.  And by suggestive, I mean I'm at least keeping my blog at a PG-13 level.  I can't say the same for the text messages.

What's the problem here, you ask?  The problem here is that I feel hypocritical.  Why was it okay for Mr. Italian to do it, so okay that I was a willing and eager participant in response?  Flip back a few days to the Mr. Too Many Words version of this conversation and I was on fire with insult and offense.  Not only was I a willing and eager participant in this conversation, I was disappointed when the follow-up last night was completely Disney-like in its innocence.  I enjoyed the attention, felt attractive and liked the challenge of putting my writing skills to a very different kind of use.  But, I probably spit in the face of all those "values" I so haughtily touted a mere few days ago. 

Here's the conservative in me:  I worry that coming across so openly limitless at the onset will change the prospective male's opinion of me.  Most people would say "Woo-hoo!  He's going to like you now!" or a good old "Atta girl," but that's not the reason I want him to like me. Just because I can engage him in some suggestive wordplay doesn't mean that I'm long-term material.   But, either in spite of or because of my lack of ladylike behavior, he contacted me the next day, and kept a respectable and gentlemanly distance conversation-wise.  Maybe he thinks we crossed the line too fast as well, considering we've never laid eyes on each other. 

Don't get me wrong, it was fun.  I'm considering loosening up the reigns a bit and enjoying this new version of myself that obviously was reaching the boiling point the night before last.  The whole point of this dating marathon was to learn new things, meet new people and explore all kinds of exciting possibilities and freedom.  So, why the internal guilt?  Because it goes against everything my mother told me a good girl does, that's why!  But, yeah....it was fun.