Trying Too Hard

Being so lovesick you don’t mind three hour meetings at work. Getting sexy texts and giggling so much your friends ask why you’re blushing. Knowing there’s a reason to take your damn birth control pills (thank you, Yaz! for reminding me every night that I’m not getting any, AGAIN). These are some of the delights of being in a relationship. Everyone wants to get there, but you just can’t skip the steps between “meeting” and “girlfriend.”

I met Overtry at a speed-dating event cleverly disguised as a “wine bar meet-and-greet for fabulous singles!” In the three minutes we chatted before the dating umpire shrieked the whistle, I liked him. Funny. Sweet. A little-dorky in that slightly endearing way. My girlfriend’s impression was, “Yeah, he was nice, but I think he’s super needy.” I gave him my card anyway.

The phone rang the next morning. “I know I’m supposed to wait three days, but I hate playing games.” Awesome! Me too, unless it’s at a casino and someone in a shiny leotard uniform is bringing me free cocktails. There’d be a happy hour date 48 hours later. I was already picking out my shoes.

He called again on 24 hours later “just to check in” and “to be sure we’re still on.” The day of our date he sent an email. “I love to kiss in the rain. At stoplights, I hold hands, gaze into the eyes of the woman I love and just wait.” Ummmm. Those things might be romantic to find out say, a month from now– but as a person who has known you four minutes in person, that’s waaaayyyy TMI. He called four minutes before our date was to start, on time, to tell me he was pulling into the parking lot and couldn’t wait to see me.

The happy hour was fine. He asked if he could see me again and I said maybe. The next day, he sent me six texts, including one complaining about the traffic and informing me he wasn’t going all the way to Santa Barbara because the 101 was a nightmare. He called twice on Thanksgiving (the day after). I chose to be Thankful for the ability to block his number on my phone.

I’m sure Overtry is a nice guy, but you just can’t skip the getting-to-know you part. Had he sent one less email, ten less texts and acted 70% more sure of himself, he may have given me a reason to go to my drug store for flavored, colored and/or glow-in-the-dark prophylactics. Besides, it actually makes you feel less special when someone who doesn’t know you at all tries way too hard to say you’re their princess in the tower.

I can hear the complaints now, “But you want us to show you we like you!,” “But you told us not to play games!” True. True. But there’s a difference between calling to set a second date and getting the boom box out to play “Every Step You Take,” the stalker’s national anthem, to someone you’ve known less than 48 hours. Maybe be a bit more, “It’s just a little crush,” than “Oh can’t you see, you belong to me,” you know?