I have always considered myself to be somewhat of a romantic. Though I often appear to be a walking picture of sardonic soullessness, all of this spite is directed at things existing in the bigger picture: god, society, nature, furniture. However, at the much simpler level of individual relationships I am a strong proponent of sweeping, sappy emotional gestures and glossy eyed stares. That being said, not all romantic overtures are intrinsically sweet and they can in fact go horribly wrong regardless of any flirtatious, innocent intent.
It’s important that people learn to understand this, as I was recently the “lucky” victim of someone’s “loving” attempts to connect with me. For the past few weeks, I have been a part of a production crew on a feature film and have become involved with one of the girls working on the film. We see each other on a daily basis and interact, but it’s usually in a work environment and up until recently we had spent very little personal time together. So when I approached her with the plan that we should break away from the set one day and go out to lunch, I was confident this would give our relationship some much needed momentum.
However, like most things in my life this statement would be realized in bittersweet irony. You see, whereas my idea of a nice afternoon break is taking a walk, going out to a restaurant, or even just talking and getting to know someone better, Colleen thinks a connection is best achieved through a shared bike ride.
No.
A shared bike ride is NOT the best way to go about doing that. Firstly, let me say to you what I said to Colleen when she suggested this. “I’m not really a bike person. I’ve never really been able to ride that well to begin with and I tend to get injured somehow every time I get on one.” Evidently, solemn rejection and matter of fact refusal are what pass for whimsical self-deprecation these days because she just thought I was exaggerating and kidding, “like how you pretend to be afraid of most things.” Not pretending, by the way. After almost a full week of badgering and her bringing a set of bikes to the set, I was forced to cave because of an unavoidable scientific concept.
So we’re riding down the street for a few moments. Colleen is smiling, wind whipping through her hair. I’m panting, lactic acid burning through my legs. Mission accomplished; this experience is totally bringing us closer to each other, and by that I mean further apart since she’s going much faster than I am. Eventually she tires of essentially riding alone and decides to slow down to a non-ridiculous speed so we can talk. Maybe she wanted to talk. She definitely wanted to communicate something. I know that much. Of course instead of speaking she chose the much more efficient method of conversing while in motion, on a bike, in the street... Physical contact.
In what she described as an effort to reach out and hold my hand (though I reasonably have my doubts) she veers in right next to me and from her bike extends her arm towards my bike. Then, thanks to another nifty scientific principle known as the transfer of momentum, Colleen pushed me off my bike on to the road in front of her and ran over my ankle.
Aww. She’s so sweet.
That was the general consensus from the rest of the crew as I limped around set for the rest of the day because she was TRYING to hold my hand and regardless of the outcome it’s the thought that counts. I’m not going to deny that her intent was romantic and that her thoughtfulness is noteworthy, but an abundance of thoughtfulness shouldn’t exonerate an absence of thought.
I mean, come on.
The only place that kind of disregard for safety and the basic concepts surrounding a collision are okay is Tron, which she hasn’t seen by the way. It came up during the limp/walk back to the set while I was validating all of my initial objections to biking. It really was a terrible idea. There’s only one justifiable action for a couple to be engrossed in if they’re going to be putting that much effort in to moving around and getting sweaty…
Okay, two things. That and a good game of charades are the best cardio I can get out of a girl, but it is true that given my lack of athleticism and accident-prone existence there should be some regulation over how I expend bodily fluid while involved with someone. Currently the distribution of my fluid exchange breaks down like this:
At first I was going for a color coordination thing with the Blood, Sweat, and Tears and I could have cast a wider net to include the Semen but seeing a rare opportunity to affect the way people viewed my semen, I decided to make it fun. I mean how cool would it be if it actually worked that way? Instead of being all icky, it would just come out like confetti, and then if you impregnated someone instead of getting a tummy full of babies for 9 months they’d get pregnant with candy, piñata-style.
Other than my obvious issue with the way in which everyone was so willing to dismiss the specifics of Colleen’s hand-holding, the thing that has me most incensed is the fact that the fates are apparently conspiring to turn my life into a Ben Stiller movie. (Hint: My life is supposed to be a Woody Allen movie.)
Whilst attempting to explain the logistics of the accident to someone, they brought my attention to the following.
Even by romantic comedy standards that’s a stretch. “Gosh, I guess I should be more worried about your blossoming concussion since it’s blatantly my fault. But shucks, there’s that smile of yours again. Can’t take my eyes off that.” It is true that there have been numerous occasions in my life where the immediate response to injury has been an outpouring of passion, but I still don’t think that should be the norm for every situation.
Plus, Ben Stiller? Really!? The man beats puppies and pleasures himself to pizza slices, for crying out loud.
I mean, it’s not like I have a paranoid hatred of the animal kingdom or a borderline erotic relationship with Domino’s Pizza’s garlic crust. Kind of a harsh comparison, universe.
Aside from being really, really ridiculously good-looking I am nothing like that focker.
