True Confession Tuesday

Okay, like 2 weeks ago I resurrected Soap Opera Sunday, but then I felt guilty about it because it wasn't my idea originally, I just participated. But I still wanted to share those stories, because most of you reading now weren't reading me back then. And those of you that were probably don't remember anyway.

Uh. . .what was I talking about? Oh yeah, so this is my post for True Confession Tuesday. If you want to participate, leave your link in the comments OR email me (jen@jerseygirl89.com) with a link to your post and I will add it to this post. Or you can just planning on letting me know for next week. If there seems to be interest, I will do the Mr. Linky thing, but I will get depressed if I see an empty Mr.Linky every time I look at my page.

True Confession Tuesday, Part Deux

Part 1

Because I was so flummoxed by the kiss, I did not respond, "What kind of favor?" in a sexy voice. To be honest, I probably wouldn't have been able to be flirtatious like that even if I hadn't been flummoxed. But I do blame the kiss on my next comment, which was "How old are you, anyway?"

Cute young guy laughed and said that he'd be 21 the following week. I would be 28 a few weeks later. I told him he was too young for me and he claimed that I "at least" owed him my phone number. I only gave it in the spirit of thanks and the Nine Rule (my friend M. and I had deduced that for every 9 guys who ask for your number, only 1 will actually call).

But of course, young guy (heretofore known as "21-year-old, which is what my friends dubbed him) called. The next day. He persuaded me to go out to dinner with him. I found him attractive, after all. But at dinner I discovered that 21-year-old did not read books. Ever. He had no goals, other than affording a big screen TV and a new truck. We were clearly not meant to be.

When I got home from the dinner, still a little stunned from the passionate kiss good-bye, Freakboy called. I was still trying to figure out why I had been kissing a 21-year-old  whom I had no intention of dating when Freakboy asked me what I'd been up to. So I told him.

Well, not the kissing part, but the date part. Freakboy and I, after all, were just casual. More friends than anything else. I knew he had a crush on the waitress at Tanner's, for God's sake. Yet when I said I'd been out to dinner with a guy I'd met at Kelly's, Freakboy . . .kind of freaked out.

"Geez, Jerseygirl, I thought WE were dating," he said plaintively. "I know we're not exclusive or anything, but I didn't think you'd actually date other people and TELL me about it."

"So is it the dating other people or the telling you that's the problem? Because I'm pretty sure I have to hear all about the waitress whenever we go to Tanner's," I replied snottily. Not that I cared, of course. Suddenly the simplicity of 21-year-old flashed before my eyes - he'd declared what he'd wanted so simply. HE wanted to be my boyfriend. So what if he was kind of an idiot. What did Freakboy want? Did he even know?

And for that matter, what did I want?