With it being Valentine’s Day, a time for lovers and selfless gestures of love and romance, what better time than now to take a look at how some of those romantic overtures can fall as flat as pre 6th century global geography. Cases like that tend to pop up when you figure out that bed mate of yours might just be a sociopath.
Sociopath can be a tricky classification for people. It isn’t a medically diagnosable malady nor is it always coupled with the cinematic evil serial killer qualities. What it all boils down to, at least in this layman’s eyes, is a general lack of empathetic tendencies to others and a clear lack of societal gravitas, often saddled with certain narcissistic or selfish attitudes. It can be hard to break through and see someones true self but when you crack that nut it becomes hard not to rewind the past and see how it really might had taken a larger role in some relationships.
Something is to be said for foolish actions. Taking leaps for what one might think could jump start a reaction in a certain, often favorable light. Well that was exactly the case when I set out for a nice dinner on my birthday. Things had been kind of stagnant and tense for far longer than desired and as the autumn leaves were falling so were the prospects of the relationship continuing. That was until a completely unexpected pleasant week full of constructive talks, flirtatious dinners, and a general branching out shifted the tone of the relationship. Suddenly there was hope and more than that, an honest attempt at having a joyous birthday, which is something that never ceases to elude me as the years progress. A Saturday night spent in watching a moving cuddling on the couch and a nighttime stroll with out dog, had given way to a Sunday morning (my birthday) where a group of friends were going to trek out to my neighborhood to watch my hometown team at my favorite local watering hole. Now my partner was not one for the drink or for the bar scene in general, probably because I made up for both of us. Well on Saturday night she had hinted that she would come down to support me and watch the game, which secretly was the best birthday present I could ever get, finally getting some quality time with both my friends and my significant other. Well Sunday afternoon there was a pressing hot yoga class that took precedent over the game so I ended up heading over stag, with plans of us having a nice romantic dinner at a corner bistro after the game.
My friends came out and we had a great time watching the early games and the Patriots march to victory as usual. Now for those who are familiar with the Sunday football schedule, there are basically three different groups of games. Most of the games started at 1pm and ended around 4, just in time for 3-4 new games to start which would last until just before the final game started around 8 that evening. So with the first slate of games over most of my friends headed back home and I stuck around with a few stragglers to watch the beginning of the second games. My dinner date was set for 6pm so I knew I had plenty of time. Well time flew and around 5:45 I realized that I had better start hoofing it home. In my slightly bubbly state and feeling very romantic and appreciative of my partners recent attitude up tick I decided to throw some gasoline on the flame of love. I ran all the way to a flower shop that was about 3 blocks past the restaurant and bought 2 dozen of my ladies particular favorite flower. Beaming as I raced to the restaurant I handed off the flowers to the hostess and asked if they possibly had a vase to put those in and if we could get a nice table because it was a special night. She graciously obliged, looking back I think she thought a proposal was on the menu, and back to the street I took galloping the final block and a half home.
Here is where the problems started. It was now 6:30 and I was a half hour late. Well normally you would think that would be acceptable, it was only a half an hour and it was only my birthday, but that day it was not the case. After a 15 minutes “conversation” basically pleading to still go to dinner, we begrudgingly headed to the restaurant. In my head I knew that she may be mad at me now, but what until she sees the reason why I was late, making this gesture of my love and appreciation for her. Welp, I did not get the reaction I thought I would at all. Situated in the center of a dimly lit back room was this vase bursting with flowers visible to anyone merely passing by a window, less in the bistro. Did my lady bat an eye lash at them as we sat down to the table, nope. Hardly saying a word I remarked that I was so touched by the effort she had been putting in this week and how I wanted to reward the overall genial attitude by doing something nice for her. Her reply was that since I had been late she ate some cereal and wasn’t hungry. Ummmm OK, well I’m sorry for taking time to do a small surprise for you, I didn’t know in the time it takes to watch a rerun of Friends you would surely die of starvation quicker than Gandhi. The waiter sensing a bit of tension, swung by the table in an attempt to break the ice and asked us if we were ready to order. Quick and to the point she shot out just the french onion soup and I volleyed back with the chicken confit. Silence fell our table for what seemed to be forever, in likelihood was about 15-20 minutes when the waiter brought out our meals. I barely had unfolded my napkin on my lap by the time she had taken two spoonfuls of soup, pronounced she was full, got up and walked home.
There I was left sitting, on my birthday, by myself, eating my chicken dinner, and staring at those stupid flowers. Sometimes no matter the attempts at romance or thoughtfulness, it just won’t get through.