So, the universe is basically my genie.
I’ll be like, “Genie, I want to date someone.”
And the genie’s like, “Okay, got you.”
And suddenly, boom — people are texting me, there are prospects, things are looking up.
But then my genie’s like, “Actually… let’s raise the stakes. You know that guy you already friend-zoned? Yeah, you’re gonna start catching feelings for him. Have fun, dumbass.”
Here’s the backstory: we met on Tinder. We text for weeks, he never asks me out. I’m like, “What is this, Little Women? Am I supposed to pine away by candlelight waiting for a suitor?”
So I tell him I’m done.
And he’s like, “Wait, wait — can we at least be friends?”
And I’m like, “Are you gay? Like at least a little? Because otherwise, what are we even doing here?”
He says, “No.”
And somehow he convinces me. Like full Shark Tank pitch. “Hi Sharks, I’m here seeking one hundred percent of your time and energy… in exchange for nothing romantic whatsoever. My valuation? Vibes.” And I bought in.
First hangout as “friends”: I leave, he doesn’t even wait with me while I’m calling my car. I’m like, “Yup. Correct choice. This man is not boyfriend material — he’s lobby furniture.”
Second hang: broad daylight, no chemistry. He feels like my cousin. Perfect. Safe.
Third hang: I bring my friend to a movie. Totally innocent. But the vibe? Accidentally felt like I was introducing my boyfriend to my best friend. Like suddenly we’re at a pilot episode called Meet the Guy Who May or May Not Matter.
And the second we’re alone, I can’t look him in the eye. I’m giggly, nervous. Like, “Oh cool, I guess I’m in middle school again, catching feelings for the guy who texts like he’s being deposed.”
Then Halloween comes up.
I send him Alfred Hitchcock with crows on him.
He’s like, “Oh, we should make it a duo costume.”
And I’m sitting there like, “Okay, are we Thing 1 and Thing 2? Or are we Gomez and Morticia? Because one is goofy and one is a couples’ soft launch. Pick a lane.”
And you might be wondering: “Why are you fighting this so hard? What, is he a bridge troll?”
No. The problem isn’t him — the problem is I know what a future with him looks like.
And I don’t know if I want that future.
Like, I want someone I can eventually move in with — he’s totally content in his current living arrangement, probably forever.
I want someone who’s comfortable enough to pick up the tab once in a while without needing to run a spreadsheet. He… watches his spending like it’s a competitive sport.
I want someone emotionally open. When I ask, “How was your day?” I want a story. A vibe. A detail. He gives me: “Good.” Period. End scene.
So now my brain and my body are basically in a boxing match.
Ding ding — Round 1.
My body comes out swinging:
“But he’s cute.”
My brain counters:
“Yeah, puppies are cute. Doesn’t mean you need to take him home with you.”
Body jabs again:
“But he makes me laugh.”
Brain hooks:
“So does your uncle at Thanksgiving. Do you want to climb him too?”
Body comes back with a hook:
“But… he feels safe.”
Brain lands a clean uppercut:
“Safe? Great. So is a weighted blanket. You don’t have to split utilities with a weighted blanket.”
By now the crowd’s going wild, my brain and body are both bleeding, and this man?
He’s not even fighting.
He’s the ring girl. Just circling the ring with a smile, holding up a sign that says Round 3.
And my body, dizzy and half-knocked out, is still like:
“…Okay but hear me out… what if?”
it's like u read my diary 😭😭