Always a Bridesmaid

Dear Swing Enthusiast,

I know. I’ve been remiss. What can I say? I’m a heartbreaker.

By the end of July, I had broken poor Norman Nurman’s heart. After our infamous date , he reached out to me a predictable number of times requesting another date. Apple Guy, among others, suggested I nonchalantly decline a couple of times with a general lack of enthusiasm for his invitation and he’d get the hint soon enough.

Uh… not quite. Norman did, in fact, get the hint and he didn’t like it one bit. An online chat took a turn for the worse when he said:

are you sort of telling me but not really telling me that you just want to be swing buddies?

They say a direct question deserves a direct answer. Apparently, they didn’t say it loud enough though, because I responded with the wishy washy:

Would you be mad if I said maybe yes?

I waited for what seemed like an eternity for his response, frantically trying to get Peggy and the girls from my old job, like the dating savvy Sandy Sunshine, online for some emergency advice. While the girls chimed in, Norman’s much anticipated answer came:

and what if I said I would be

What!? Oh No! Was he serious? He was not about to make this easy for me. Sandy Sunshine, no stranger to the online dating world and, therefore, the electronic rules of engagement, was particularly surprised at his less than chivalrous response. After much debating, I responded:

If you said yes, that would be sad, since I would genuinely like to be your swing friend.

As Peggy and the gang patted me on the back via email on my diplomatic choice of words, Norman violently retorted:

i'm not mad that you just want to be friends, but i am annoyed that i had to glean it from you, rather than you just say so. i also find my self-esteem cut down a bit. but i'll deal with it.

Come on, buddy! Take it like a man. Did I mention that I discovered on our date that this bore looks deceivingly young? He’s almost 40, people. Are these martyr tactics the behavior of a middle aged man? I think not. It seemed there was nothing I could do to smooth things over with Norman Nurman, so I simply chose not respond. We haven’t spoken since.

This whole stupid Norman Nurman experience / fiasco succeeded in turning me off dating. What had begun only weeks ago as a joyful experiment, ended in a guilt ridden dead-end. I live in fear of Norman returning to the dance studio to resume his swing studies, awkwardly avoiding the not-so-easy girl who wounded his oblivious swing ego. Thankfully, it hasn’t happened yet. But I also hate to think I scared him away from his beloved dance hobby with one empty kiss. Why does this whole dating trial-and-error thing always have to hurt someone? Were Apple Guy and I the only ones swinging who could flirt, figure out we weren’t meant for each other and forge an ever-growing friendship despite initial discomfiture? All my friends seem to think so. It’s the inevitability of heartache that makes us all want to stop trying. I am no exception.

At the peak of my debatably trivial sorrow, one of my most enthusiastic supporters, a kindhearted, worldly, endearingly neurotic woman named Francesca, suggested we collaborate on a book to perhaps be called What If You Are Not Having Sex in the City?.

Of course, she would think of me first for such a book. Here I am, practically ashamed of my own hunger for a good “deep dicking,” now considering co-authoring a book clearly defining how hopeless my own case is…

I actually think it’s a great idea. Who knows? It could have a happy ending!

Maybe it was in the name of book research or maybe it was just in the name of fun, regardless, like Sandy Sunshine and Dalia Domina before me, I joined the online dating community the day after my 26th birthday. Admittedly, I had always thought this mode of playing the field just a tad beneath my dignity, but, apparently, it’s okay to look…

To top it all off, everyone around me is winning the race to grow up. Svetlana and Vladymir, an adorable young couple at the dance studio henceforth knows as THE RUSSIANS, had big news last week. I first started talking to these two jitterbugs months ago when I walked up to Svetlana and uttered the unthinkably taboo, “Are you pregnant?” Guess what? She wasn’t. I still can’t believe it happened. I had no choice but to initiate a wholehearted friendship with them in the hopes of being forgiven for the unforgiveable. Judging from the rides home they offer and the online chat they both grant me on occasion, I am now in their good graces just in time for Svetlana to announce that she and her husband are, indeed, expecting. I brim with joy for them!

Despite their youth and vigor, The Russians do have a couple years on me. I am very young and, as they like to say, “have my whole life ahead of me.” But last weekend I went home to suburbia to host the bridal shower of my high school best friend. That’s right; my best friend is all grown up and getting married. I’m a pretty progressive girl. I’m in no rush to get married and have a family. I have always been somewhat hopeful that all that stuff would fall into place in its own time, and when you fall madly in love with a girl at 24, you start reimagining the white picket fence your mother dreamed up for you. But when your bosom buddy of fifteen years and the prom date you set her up with a decade ago decide to commit their lives to each other, it simply must give you pause. Maybe, just maybe, I’m another ill-fated spinster, all washed up at 26.

And, of course, I’m the fat bridesmaid! At a size 6, I am the thickest stem in the David’s Bridal clad bunch. After a post-shower evening in with girls, featuring my old high school girlfriends sitting around the groom’s computer screen laughing at some of the less suave prospects on my dating site of choice, I went home to the Swing Mom’s house and tried on the big cliché of a strapless bridesmaid’s gown in the wee hours of the night. As I stood before a ghetto mirror propped up in my mother’s spare bedroom, I was surprised at how gorgeous the dress really looked on me. After self-indulgently posing in it for God only knows how long, I reluctantly peeled off the dress and stood in front of the mirror for a moment in nothing but my high heels. For the second time that night, I was surprised at the beauty of what I saw looking back at me in the mirror.

Isn’t it amazing what a pair of heels can do for a girl?

Yours Truly,

-Sara