Death by Affection

And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house!
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful wife!

- David Byrne

It's not you, it's me...

On second thought, it is you. Definitely you.

Stephen and I share a mutual friend at work, who noticed we both loved going to the beach - maybe we could go together. During dinner, he opened up about losing his wife almost 2 years ago (on my birthday!) from cancer, after 19 years of marriage. A sign. Indeed.

He told me that he and his 13 year old son were going to Panama City Beach over Memorial weekend - would I like to go with them? I agreed, not realizing how excrutiatingly slow three days could drag.

For lack of a better adjective, Stephen is sweet. When I couldn't make up my mind at dinner, he ordered my second choice so I could try both meals; decided Bud Light was his favorite beer (after a lifetime of Miller products), then remembered he loved 80's music (after hearing what I liked). He was affectionate, constantly trying to hold my hand, hanging on every word, staring and telling me how beautiful I am. Sweet? Smothering and vomit-inducing. Too much affection apparently makes me crabby.

He was ready to put his house on the market and move to my town 45 mintues away. I told him I admired his decision to date, but it would probably be difficult for his son to handle other women in his mom's place. "Teenage boys bottle up their emotions," I wisely told him. "You might want to hold back with affection" (which was a much nicer way of saying, "My personal space. Your personal space. Back off!")

I really want to like him. I really can't. Women want spineless, romantic men? Give me an unstable, emotionally unavailable man any day. I've simply decided I don't trust anyone this much into me...call when you have better taste in women. [The good news is that breaking up is finally getting easier to do. I even threw out the "let's still be friends" card, knowing that will never happen].