Sadly I could write a book on this one. The man who claims to find you attractive, repeatedly calls you, dates you, and even claims to love you but just doesn’t get ..um… excited for you.
And no.. before you start screaming about stress at work, overdoing the alcohol or ‘it just happens sometimes’, I’m not talking about the occasional lack of interest.. I’m talking about the guy with no ‘go’ – permanently. Sure he might have had a few good years back when you first met but when you’re around, the usual state of affairs is, well, nothing. There’s no pants party in his house. The tank is out of gas. The flower has lost it bloom. The crab is soft shell. However you phrase it, if the stiffest thing in the bedroom is your lips, then you’ve got yourself a man with no ‘go’.
How does this happen? Lord knows. I’m a chick. To whom this keeps happening. Are you a hideous specimen of femininity you may ask? Does the ear piercing squawk of your voice cause the mojo to run off and hide? Do you frighten it away?
Potentially. But I also seemed to attract a fair share of dudes with oodles of ‘go’ in them… especially ones I wasn’t dating, so I figured it had to be something I was doing when dating someone. It had to be me.
And I, with a career in consulting, could figure it out and fix it. Everything can be fixed right? All we needed was some analysis and an easily implementable solution. Maybe some communications, a little buttering up of key stakeholders…but basically understand the cause of the issue, identify a solution, implement. Easy right? Here’s how it went down with one guy I’d been with for a while when I realized that we hadn’t had sex for nearly a year. Yes.. I know… a year. (hey I’d been busy too you know!)
Weight. Firstly it had to be my weight right? (yes, chicks always go there first). But as a size 4 I figured that starving myself down to a size 2 wasn’t worth the annoying bitch from hell that I’d become in the process. If my weight was the issue, and having been the same size since college, then why would he be with me? Na can’t be my weight.. (Phew… no need for a diet).
Appearance. Next up appearance. I’ve always landed on the granola, low key side of the appearance spectrum. Make up is for when I look really shit or on a special occasion, and as long as I’m not wearing my breakfast, I’m happy to walk out of the door with clean teeth and brushed hair. Maybe I needed to tart things up a little? Make more of an effort to hide the crows feet and acne scars?
After a few ridiculously expensive hours at Nordstrom I debuted my new made up face to my man… the shrieks of laughter told me that not only was makeup not the issue, but it wasn’t going to help my confidence much if the result was hilarity. Next up.. maybe it was my approach?
Approach. I’ve always been from Nike school of action ‘ just do it’. Feeling itchy.. scratch. Feeling frisky.. ask.. or more recently.. just do.This always seems to have worked in my favor with the male persuasion and I’ve generally been applauded for my go getter enthusiasm and ‘can do’ attitude in the matter of all things naked. Maybe I needed to soften my approach for the US market? Maybe batting my eyelashes and teasing my hair was the way to light some fire in the general ‘area’. The challenge of overcoming a lifetime of tomboy attitude is pretty tough but I twiddled my hair, did my best Lady Diana eyelash batting impression and squeezed my cleavage into a bra two sizes too small during a candle lit dinner. The result… a question as whether I was having an outbreak of my allergies and a suggestion that buy clothes that fit.
‘well…you look a bit… spilly outty….you know… overstuffed’
Whats ok for Victoria Secret models.. apparently not so much for everyday me. And certainly wasn’t causing him to see me in any type of sexy way, though it did provide a nice shelf for bits of rice I dropped during dinner. Mmm… nothing says sexy like rice in the cleavage. Maybe it was just all a bit boring and predictable? Maybe we needed some ‘spice’.
Excitement Maybe I needed to change things up. Get creative. Think outside of the bedroom. Go crazzzzzzzy. After attacking him from the rear in the kitchen (and receiving a soapy clout to the boob – ‘I thought you were an intruder’), I decided that the gentle approach might work and decided for a big seduction on his return from a bike ride. Squeezed into a corset, strapped up in stockings and with hair in pig tails (hey, Britney knew what she was doing), I arranged myself on the living room sofa on a Sunday afternoon with legs askance. Which was the perfect way to greet our landlord as he popped over with our new water tank. It worked on him..(yikes!) and I excused myself with a face of fire to re-appropriate myself in the bedroom. It was less impressive for my boyfriend as he hurried past my prone self and into the shower. He took one look at me and suggested that we turn down the heating if I was hot.
At that point I decided that it was him, not me, and dumped the motherfucker.
Some flowers you can resurrect with some attention, others just droop and are done. These days I only buy fresh and I don’t nursemaid them to last once they start sagging.
You can always buy more.