This is the shite that happens when you own too many chick flicks. In love with the idea of love leaves you “Jack Knifed.”
I was “in like” with Jack from the first moment. He met me for brunch, and while I waited for him to arrive, I bent over to uncuff my jeans (there was snow, and boots, and all-around wet). I realized during the uncuff that my thong was flirting. I quickly pulled my sweater taught. It was too late.
“Nice view.” Jack said through a smile as he approached from behind. Later, he admitted he not only loved the view, but he loved watching every guy in the place stare.
I was mildly unglued when he mentioned stories that sounded like mine. Was he reading the blog and then offering up his matching tales? I’d half-listen while I tried to remember if I’d written it anywhere. We had too much in common. It was likeness leads to liking in a big bad goose bumps way. I had the this-is-its more than once. He was talking, and I watched, but I couldn’t really hear. I was trapped in a moment thinking only, “oh my God, this guy is so great. I love that face and the way he tells stories and finds ways to touch my face or arm, or hand. He tells me I’m adorable between stories. He’s smitten.” Then I snap out of it, reminding myself I know next to nothing about him. I get so carried away with the idea of a person that I don’t even pay attention to who they even are! He could be a con artist liar man who runs from relationships as if he’s got an upbeat iPod playlist on, motivating him into a sprint towards the door.
As crazy as I was about Captain Jack, when I slept at his apartment, I had a pit in my stomach. Not butterflies, a pit. Something wasn’t right. I felt like Blair Warner from The Facts Of Life in the Magnificent Obsession Episode where her latest boyfriend, Chad, means everything to her. She bends every which way trying to please him (though back then there weren’t thongs). Chad tells her to wear her hair a different way, what colors to wear, etc. And before you know it, she’s not Blair anymore; she’s Hair. Or something like that.
I was beginning to feel that way with Jack. I had to justify my social life, and I found myself hiding what I actually did. "What did you do last night?" "Oh, I went to a fashion show, but I skipped the after party." No I didn’t. I totally went. But I knew if I’d told him that, he’d think, "oh no, party girl."
I’ve learned to take things one day at a time… and to trust my body. The pit in the stomach was telling me something, and I was going to listen. See, the good news in going through a “Jack Knife” is you learn things. The bad news is you’re 90 degrees from where you’d thought you’d be which leaves you with that not so fresh feeling. Panama Jack was a crash course in Listen To Your Body 101. Now I’m working on Knife Skills 102. Who needs a tomato in the shape of a rose? I’m taking orders.