As many of those who know me well will attest, I have dated some real dweebs. Ok, not the totally worthless garden variety (those who sit around and smoke a bong all day and collect welfare), as most were good earners and had at least one redeeming quality (usually the ability to lead a 6a/5.10 pitch), but just not that Grade A quality boyfriend every girl hopes for.
After a couple of years of dating just climbers (which led to some really good climbs but unfortunately not very good relationships), I decided to try something different: match.com!
Dating websites are designed to deceive, everybody pretends to be 500% better than they really are.
I clearly stated I was only looking for men who did SPORTS. Well, one guy wrote me who insisted he was my match! I asked him what sports he did, he claimed sailing and hiking.
It turns out the last time he hiked was 8 years prior, and that ‘sailing’ really meant taking his motorized yacht on a small lake once a year.
I told him it wouldn’t work out so there was not point in meeting.
He insisted, so I said fine, one drink, that’s it, just to get my butt out of the tiny apartment I was subletting at the time; I wasn’t working at the time, and was going nuts. So I went out with him and actually had a really great time. Like most upper class Brits, he was quite charming and a good conversationalist (I ignored the fact he was flabby, overweight, and bald, a far cry from the sculpted climbers with hair I was used to dating).
Long story short, I ended up dating this guy for almost 9 months, and actually lived with him full-time for 5. He had a huge house in the French countryside, surrounded by some of the best road biking in the world. He had a huge kitchen; his mom taught me how to bake scones. Oh, and he had 3 big dogs…
At first I was scared of the dogs. Scared they wouldn’t take to me. I had cats most of my life, and a sad, neglected dog growing up who only lived outside, so I didn’t really know much about dogs. Except that they bite you when they’re mad. But soon enough, I bonded with his dogs. The boyfriend worked long hours, and I was only working part-time, so I stayed home, fed the dogs, walked the dogs, played with the dogs. I gave them human food, which he told me not to, because when they looked at me with those sweet, borderline pathetic puppy eyes, I couldn’t refuse; what can I say, I am a pushover.
Whenever I was sad, one of his black labs would put his head on my lap, like he knew I was sad. I’d pet him and I’d feel better. They were always happy to see me when I came home. They seemed to always be smiling at me. Wait, you don’t have baggage, you don’t have ‘issues’, you’re not in a ‘bad mood’, you’re not ‘playing hard to get’, you really just happen to like me, as I am, plain and simple? Ok, I get it, these dog people. Why you’d want to hole yourself up in the countryside with your dogs and stop interacting with humans, who can behave like a-holes, who don’t call you back, you put you down when they’re feeling insecure, who are not always honest and who often seem to have some hidden agenda (and its not a bone!).
Well, the relationship with ‘bad match’ didn’t work out. He hated sports, he hated traveling, he hated adventure, and he didn’t like the mountains (go figure it lasted 9 months!). I did keep doing all those things, btw, just not with him, so in the end felt I had to choose between him and the things I loved doing. So I said sayonara baby. But I did kinda miss his dogs when I moved out.
Sometimes I look back and wonder ‘why did I pick this dweeb?’ or ‘why did I stay with this dweeb so long?’. Well there is always an answer, always a reason, that doesn’t come clear until months or years into the future.
Today I realized I wouldn’t love dogs if it wasn’t for Mr. Dweeb. So thank you Mr. Dweeb. Wyatt thanks you too 🙂
thebearthatmoved.com 