Wounded Bird

Caramel rejected me. She was the first girl in my adulthood to outright shun me. I thought that I was losing my mojo. Even though I never fashioned myself as the heart throb who turned heads upon entering a room, I was always confident that I could get with any woman of interest who got to know me fully. That wasn't the case with Caramel, though. She didn't find me remotely attractive.

Physically, I've always rated myself at about a 7 (on a scale of 1-10). I never believed myself to be the cutest boy in any of my grade school classes. During my high school years, and even in college, I wasn't that guy who girls fought over either. Despite not having abs of steel, a nice set of teeth, or even the ideal height, I never had trouble getting with good looking women.

For a long time I've understood that girls/women dig personality and various other intangibles (like motivation, sense of humor, and confidence). Even as a "7", I knew that my total package put me on par with the cuter boys who had less to offer because girls (unlike men) don't love with their eyes. They fall for what they hear and feel.

Caramel was unlike most women I'd encountered. At the time, I was in my mid 20s and very single. We met at a laundromat in my neighborhood. She got my attention immediately upon entering the establishment. Caramel literally fit the profile for my ideal woman--caramel complexion, thick lips, full breasts, and a very nice backside. I was gassed when I got her phone number, but that's where all the excitement ended.

Caramel could care less for the fact that I actually wanted to know about her past, and what dreams she had. Deep conversations weren't her thing either. It didn't matter that I had a job, my own place (and car), and no kids. Despite all of that, I was drawing blanks with my advances. She just wasn't feelin' me.

It frustrated me to no end that I wasn't breaking any ground with her. Finally, after we had a few drinks together one night I asked her to tell me why she wasn't reciprocating my interest.

Me: I don't get it. You call me to have drinks. We talk on the phone regularly, and almost a month later, I don't feel like we're beyond where we were at the laundromat. What's up?
Caramel: Are you mad at me? I'm sorry.
Me: No. I'm not mad. I just don't get it. I don't usually have to chase like this. It's new to me.
Caramel: Honestly, you're not really my type.
Me: At least you're honest.
Caramel: We talk all the time because I like you... as a friend. You're cool.
Me: (thinking, oh no she didn't!) Thanks. I guess... What's your type?
Caramel: I've always been into guys that need to be fixed, like wounded birds.
Me: Isn't that stressful?
Caramel: Not at all. I like to know that the guy I'm with isn't my equal.