The Evolution of Confidence

Then
I’m hanging on his every word. And I’m kind of being half literal here. I’m leaning so forward that I could probably topple over if someone poked me from behind. It’s not like I don’t have my own opinions. I do, but ten bucks says I won’t share them with him tonight because I still don’t know if he’s the type of guy that likes women to agree or disagree with him. It’s a fine line. I’m aware of every word he says and my mind is working hard behind the scenes. How can I turn this conversation into a conversation that will make him like me? I search for meaning in the silence. Was that gap between those words a sign? Why did he hesitate at that exact moment?

I’m apologizing for the drinks before his lips have touched the glass.

“You probably won’t like it. I’m sorry I don’t drink so I don’t really know the right proportions. ”

And then he takes a sip and my voice is full of worry: “Is it too strong?”

I hear myself say it and it sounds polite to me, endearing even. But I notice his eyes. Was that an eye roll? It couldn’t have been. No wait. That was definitely half of an eye-roll.

“Don’t apologize” he says, “It’s annoying.”

I laugh because what else is there to do? But my feelings are hurt; I’m embarrassed. It doesn’t even occur to me that he’s being rude and that I should call him out on it, somehow. Instead I end up apologizing for my apology.

And then I think: Oh man, I hope he still likes me.

Now
I’m listening to another one of his stories but my mind is on a new recipe I’m trying. Mid-sentence I jump off the couch and check the oven’s temperature.

“Is it OK?” he asks getting on his feet too.

“I have no idea, but I’ll give it another five minutes. You were saying?”

This isn’t a ‘tell me your life story’ kind of evening.  It’s ‘let’s talk about the things we’re passionate about.’ Half of it is political talk. The other half is movie talk. I must remember to tell him about that video I saw on YouTube. He’ll love it. As I think it, I say it. How liberating!

I run to the oven again. He stands again.

“Um, you’re being a bit stalker-ish.” I say as I dip a chip into the cheesy concoction I’ve made. He laughs.

“What the hell was that face?”

“What face?”

“You expect me to eat that? When you made that face?”

“Shut up! I can’t control my face. But its fantastic (needs a bit of salt) and you’re going to eat it all!”

For some reason I’m telling him about the perfect gift I found and I ramble for a few minutes and only when I hear myself carrying on and my arms are flailing about my body do I think: This is so not a conversation to be having with a guy. But when I finally stop talking and my hands are no longer threatening his life, he replies.

“That sounds so cool!” He makes a joke about the gift and I take the joke further and then we’ve basically revolutionized the gift-giving industry.

And the next morning when he sends me a message to thank me and to apologize for not eating more of my dip, I remember that I clean forgot to care what he thought of my culinary skills.

Or me, for that matter.