Little Red Hiding Hood

So, I know we've talked about it before, but I have to revisit a particular topic that is basically reeking havoc on this Singleton's stress levels.  In short, I'd imagine I'd be off the charts if I took one of those treadmill tests where you get hooked up to all those funky, beeping machines and run until you pass out (or in my case, trip on your own feet and yank out the treadmill cord).  I'm having angel versus demon conflicts yet again!  If you could see my right now, I just threw my head back and let out a giant "Urrrrgh!" of frustration and grabbed hair on either side of my head and pulled it in conjunction.

Here's a little tidbit about myself that I have yet to share with you, my faithful followers:  I'm a big talker.  And by big talker, I mean that I have a big mouth and it tends to get me in hot water.  My mouth has a tendency to create a character who is quite the experienced woman of the world, when in reality, I'm very much otherwise.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not the perpetual wallflower who has never gotten to dance, but if we're talking music/dancing analogies, I'm not Madonna either.  However, I do have a very vivid imagination and can (eh-hem) talk myself up, so to speak.  Danger zone.

Occasionally, I'm met with a critical dilemma as a result of this (uh) tendency of mine.  Very rarely, I come across someone who inspires some kind of strange challenge within me to see just how far into the forest my mouth/words can take me.  At some point, I realize that I've trod entirely too far into the woods without a map to get back to the safety of civilization and begin to totally freak out.  With no escape route, it's rather difficult to turn back and get to the original path without retaining some of the dirt, brambles and thorns collected while venturing down "The Wrong Path."

Okay, so I know I'm not the only one in the world who has ventured down a path that can only result in the generation of a bad reputation. (I can hear my mother's voice reminding me of how easy it is to lose a good reputation and hard it is to lose a bad one...I know, I know, I hear you!!!)  That's not the problem.  The problem is that I (can't believe I'm actually going to say this...out loud in writing) kind of....like it.   (Insert another aggravated "urrrgh" here.)

Before you add my impure soul to your prayer list, let me explain.  The reason that I get so freaked out by going too far into the woods without dropping breadcrumbs to find my way out (too many fairy tale references?  Okay... I'll keep them at a limit.)  is because I would never act on most of the words that come out of my mouth (or my fingertips, depending on the situation).  Unless of course, I was in a long-term committed relationship... hell, some of it would require nuptials and a legally binding document.  And I will say, as a personal advertisement, I usually impress myself with my creative abilities, so there's a lucky boy out there that will...  nevermind.  That's beside the point.  Back to the subject at hand. 

Part of me likes the excitement of walking on the wild side... the adrenaline rush of flirting with the Big Bad Wolf and potentially being a different person for a few minutes.  At first, the Big Bad Wolf seems charming and flattering, so much so that I forget for a little while that he is actually, in fact, a wolf.  And so far, he's always been a wolf.  But, soon I catch a glimpse of those nasty, snarled teeth and understand their intention, and I run for the nearest hiding place.   Then, I kick myself.  Here I am, touting myself as this new, independent woman who is going to enjoy life to the fullest and live as the best Singleton I can (if I'm going to be single, I might as well have fun doing it!  Right?!...right?) and I run like a scared little prom queen at the first sign of adult interaction.  Obviously the other part of me is uncomfortable by the wild side walking and flirting with a four-legged predator.  This discomfort makes me feel like a major, uptight, old maid who will be flirting with no one but her brood of cats long into old age.  Can Little Red Riding Hood survive a jaunt through the woods with the wolf and still be able to look her grandmother in the eye when she gets to her house?  As much as I'd like to think that this crimson cloaked chickadee could handle it, I'm almost positive that I'm not destined for romps in the forest with canines.  Although the temptation isn't going away, I think I'm going to hold out for a conversation partner who doesn't fall within the same genus and species as dogs.