I love backgammon. Monopoly makes me happy on a rainy day. A bottle of wine and some Pictionary? Count me in! Just about any table in Vegas you will find me whooping it up and having a ball. I love games. Or so I thought. Because what I don’t love, and what I’m definitely not good at, are dating games.
I am way more of a “I like you, you like me, great now that’s established, let’s have some fun and laugh and get to know each other” kind of woman. Apparently though, that is not how it’s done these days. Last time I was single everything was about “the rules” which made me roll my eyes. Well, adult-dating in 2014 is the rules on steroids. And, man, navigating it sucks.
First and foremost, now there are more ways than ever to get rejected. Its not just “Will he call?” or “Should I call him back?” Nope, if only it was that simple. Texting has added a whole new element to the equation. Which means we want immediate results, instant contact and response. So if you finally get the courage to send a simple “How’s your day?” text and it is not answered in 5 minutes, does that mean he isn’t interested? Add to that the major decision of “Should we become Facebook friends? And if we do become friends, dare I like his posts? If I do aren’t I just showing all my cards? Do I want to follow him on Instagram? Who follows who first on Twitter?” Oh, and just to make it even more confusing, there are no answers to these questions. Ask five of your friends, male and female, and no two answers will be similar.
Then there are the old-school games. “How long will he wait to call? When will he ask me out again? Can I invite him out? If he asks me out for tonight, even if I don’t have other plans, do I need to pretend that I do because I don’t want him to think I was waiting for him?” You understand that it’s amazing anyone ever goes on a date with all this nonsense.
I was talking to a little girl the other night who wanted to play with my little dog Steve. She was chasing him, backing him into little corners and getting upset when he didn’t want to play with her. I told her to give him a little piece of her bacon, let him know she was there, let him smell it on her hands so he knows it came from her, and to walk away from him. That he would come to her on his own. As the words were coming out of my mouth, I knew I was telling her not only how to play with the dog, but one approach of how to play the dating game with any man. And as much as I don’t want to play, I do at least know the rules of the game. You can’t go onto the field without looking at the playbook first.
Although, now that I think of it, maybe I’ll start by rubbing some bacon grease behind my ears and seeing how I do.