Saturday Mornings with Nice Guys

On Saturdays, and especially Saturdays like the last one, I have an immense hatred for the universe. I might have woken up on the right side of the bed to realise that probably being on the wrong side of the bed would have been a better option. If that confuses you, you should have seen the dopey smile on my face at 10 am that morning. No one in their right minds would be that happy to have to walk in to work on a Saturday. But, I was.

I love weekends more than I love my job, which is why my chirpiness was unwarranted. I guess that is the thing about knowing you’re remotely required at one end of any line. Whether you’re someone like me, staring into the phone and being an absolutely hopelessly dopey child or someone significant in the  cogwork, levelling the rest of the organisation and making the rest of us look like mere peasants — we all love feeling important, which (at times) borders on a false sense of entitlement.

It’s that false sense of entitlement that I try very hard to avoid, but it’s just a hazard of age (and maybe occupation). I spend my days imparting information to people as if I know everything and I tend to carry that around with me.
Even when it comes to You.

I never fell for The Charmer’s Trap. I always look people straight in the eye and call them out on their bullshit. I rolled my eyes at the bad boys because they mean nothing to a girl who is always rooting for the underdog. So, I looked You in the eyes and I checked for that sort of cocky glint I have strictly avoided all my life. I forgot to check for the possibility of my world crumbling around me. But, don’t worry. It’s not happened yet. When it does, nuclear strikes will bow down to my remains and know they had nothin’ on Your eyes.

I have hated so many movies because The Nice Guy never got what he loved or deserved. (Screw you, Molly Ringwald. Ducky was the true love of your life.) I am secretly afraid of all those girls finding out that they loved You all along. If You get what You want, I will probably have to just nod and smile once more. I could give classes in Nodding Etiquette and Building A Cool Exterior For No Remuneration And Lots Of Heartbreak. I know how much You hate when I resort to cutting my ego down to nothing and making fun of us, but I don’t have a choice. After a point, I am not going to be able to find the joke funny. Repetition kills everything.

I am going to pretend we were supposed to have this story of epic proportions. But, epic is not even the beginning of how I’d describe what a massive disappointment disillusionment has felt like. I can see Your face dropping at the sight of these words [You will never read] and not saying a thing, or just getting visibly irritated at the idea that I will not let go. You will squirm in your seat because I am really close to hitting a home run when it comes to guessing what’s on your mind and it makes You uncomfortable enough to get up and declare You’ve had enough, but You won’t say it out loud. Not yet. You’re still listening.

That’s the thing. I like to push my luck. Every night, I dream of impossible things before I hit the pillow – I pray.