A number of years ago, I agreed to an evening out with an old friend. We'd known each other for a number of years and reconnected in graduate school. We'd pass one another in the halls between classes and joke about needing to get together "when life slows down" but life never seemed to slow down. Then one night he called. There was a concert being put on by his organization, would I like to attend? The music wasn't really my style, but what the heck. I said, "sure!" Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew better than to invite my roommate along, but I couldn't say exactly why not.
At this point, it's probably best to give you some descriptive details. My friend is approximately 5'2" tall and the best description of his shape would be round ... sort of like a weeble. You remember those toys? I'm not being rude, I just need you to get the picture. There's absolutely nothing wrong with being 5'2" or round. I, however, while plenty round in my own right, am about 5'8". We made an odd pair as friends to begin with.
When the evening of the concert came, Mr. Weeble was late to pick me, didn't hold any doors for me, and got lost getting to the venue which caused us to miss out on dinner beforehand. At this point, I realized my fears about not inviting my roommate along were unfounded, this most definitely was not a date. I relaxed and found myself thoroughly enjoying an evening out with an old friend who was excellent company and an entertaining conversationalist.
He dropped me back off at my apartment a little before midnight, and I went inside and began preparing for bed. Fifteen minutes later, about the time I'd gotten the makeup washed off my face and changed into my pajamas, the phone rang. It was Mr. Weeble. He said he needed to talk. While not exactly convenient, this didn't strike me as all that odd at first. I was used to playing counselor for most of my friends from time to time, so I prayed silently for wisdom, took a deep breath, and said, "Sure, what's up?" He responded with, "I'll come get you." My roommate told me later that she knew in that moment it could only mean one of two things, he was gay or he was in love with me. There was no middle ground in her mind. How I wish she'd have warned me! I was clueless.
We ended up at the only 24 hour eating establishment in town a little after midnight, found a booth, and he began a story. The story was rambling, and I honestly don't remember all the points, but I do remember thinking, "God, at some point, Mr. Weeble's going to stop talking, and I'm going to have to say something. Help me know what to say." Then, from the other side of the booth, I heard Weeble say this, "So, I don't know if a dating relationship is something you're interested in ..." And, I thought, "Well, I mean, who isn't? I guess it would depend, but in general, I think dating's a pretty good thing." Then, Weeble finished his sentence, "... but I'm not really good at reading signals, so I'm just going to ask you if there's a chance for us."
All coherent thinking halted in that moment. I froze.
Slowly, cognitive functions returned, and I began formulating a response. I thanked him for his straightforwardness, assured him I was flattered (and in some way, I was), but confessed I didn't see a very bright future for a dating relationship between the two of us, the Weeble and I. He asked me if it was because he was short. It wasn't ... entirely. That would have been a great time to thank me for my time and take me home, but Mr. Weeble wasn't done talking. He proceeded to tell me about how he'd been thinking of asking me out since the first day we'd reconnected at school. He talked about his jealousy upon hearing about someone else I'd gone out with a few times. And, he told me how he'd dreamed of the work we could do together as a team. By the time he was done talking, I was every bit as miserable as he seemed to be. We drove back to my apartment in a very awkward silence, and managed to avoid one another rather successfully for the rest of the semester ... except that one time at Target, in the toilet paper aisle!
Weebles wobble but they don't fall down!
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