“I love you” she said to me, and she was beautiful. I was living in Pittsburgh, PA at the time, in a tiny apartment on Brighton Street next to the YMCA. My place was a borderline flophouse–I was at least three decades younger than the youngest tenant. I had just gotten fired from Sarcom for hijjacking them for a raise for the third time in 4 important trips (I had become privy to the rate that they were billing my $34k a year self out at, and it was 1999, so I got ‘em twice when I had leverage. The joke wore thin by the third time, and they let me go.)

I was in her apartment surrounded by girly things and romantic comedy VHS tapes of middling quality. And you’d think, that a 23 year old guy would love to hear from a doe eyed 26 year old that she loved me. But it was less of a feeling and more of a tether to me. I didn’t know what to say, because we’d had three dates together.

I was then, too clueless to know it, but Jen had invited me over to seduce me. To consummate her claim on me. We had just finished dinner, were staying in on a Saturday night just prior to Memorial day, and she loves me she says. I wasn’t honored by this. I felt like I should have been. I was revolted. Because I was revolted, I felt like I was a bad guy. Of course, when a woman reaches out to you, says she loves you, you’ve gotta love her back, right? To me, it was pathetic. 3 dates. No real affection or chemistry for her, and what kept me around her was the fact that she looked like the picture of the woman I thought I’d marry–5’6, short brown hair, dark eyes. She worked as a client of the magazine I’d worked for previously. At the moment, though, it was a tether. A claim on me, I wasn’t allowed to reject her because hey, she’d said “I love you,” I’d be a cruel asshole if I left her hanging. But really–there was no way she loved me. I took her to a pens game, to dinner, and this was the third date. We talked a few times on the phone, and we held hands walking around in Oakland, and she drank too much as we went from bar to bar. I didn’t have the signals dialed in (one of the benefits to the anxious Midwestern christian piety was being too naive to know that a woman was trying to get you in bed), so I drove her home then. She was somewhat sad when I didn’t go in with her, but I brightened when I agreed to go out the following Friday.

“I’ve never really met a guy like you” she said. “You’re such a gentleman.” I guess my mom would be proud, but she was in a desperate race to the bottom. Anyone that didn’t kick her would be considered a gentleman. Anyone that didn’t leave within 30 seconds of having sex, well, that was a soul mate. I learned within a few weeks to smell out the many girls that were like this–that had endless neediness that nothing would fill (objectification of women has had the consequence of producing a population of females that is 40% crazy, compared to only 35% of men that are nuts.) So there were tense moments. “I just met you, i feel,” I said, and she filled the awkwardness with, “and it seems like we’ve been together longer.” So I inquired about her dating history, gently.

This girl had been with many, obviously, and she’d also never had a relationship last longer than 3 months. “There aren’t any nice guys,” she said to me hopefully. And you know, she was right. Because had I less self respect (even dating her meant I had little) we would have been in her bedroom and we would have had a disposable time. But–there it was, what do you say when someone makes The Statement? You can’t say that you love them back when you don’t. Unless its the path of least resistance, and unless it would be the only thing that would give back her dignity. An hour past and we talked, and I probed her on all things. “I’m a good person” this future crazy cat lady said. More tomorrow, real work calls.

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