It's Cool

“Oh god, it’s fine,”

I reassure a crying man who’s breaking up with me via voice text.

“of course we’ll stay friends, duh!”

I text while deleting all the pictures of him off my phone.

As someone who’s read He’s Just Not That Into You at least twice in their twenties, I’ve learned to let it roll off my back.

Kate Hudson’s been dumped, Beyoncé got cheated on, Lyle Lovett fumbled his marriage to Julia Roberts.

I remind myself, as to not take it personally when someone says they don’t want to keep dating me. I try not to let it knock my self-esteem even though, I know, given the chance most men would fuck a grilled cheese sandwich.

“He’s probably overwhelmed by his feelings for you, there’s literally no other reason he wouldn’t want to go out again.”

My friend consoles me, I nod in agreement despite believing that if a man really wants to be with you … there is little you can do to stop him.

“Oh, it’s so fine!” I tell her/myself.

Another man will happen along quicker than the next city bus.

One does, as they always do.

I’ve been accused of collecting men.

Which would imply I am out here shopping, antiquing, perusing for a rare specimen of a man.

This couldn’t be further from the truth. A collector keeps things, I do not. I cut bait fast and often, as to not get hooked.

When I leave the house, it’s not to shop for men. It’s to shop for groceries, do the school drop-off, or give someone a haircut, if I happen upon a boyfriend or twelve along the way that’s not my fault.

Ok, fine. Once a year (twice at most) I’ll decide to cast a line out at the dive bar in the neighboring town.

Finding a date for the night is like shooting fish in a barrel. Typically I walk up to the tallest, dark-haired, mustached, hopefully-single man … kiss him, and tell him he’s my boyfriend now.

You’d be amazed at how well this works.

Who cares if he’s in his twenties, let me live, damnit!

But that’s as far as it goes. I don’t want to spend the night with him, sleep on his mattress with no sheets, meet him for brunch in the morning, or even save his number in my phone.

I only wanted a little male attention before going back to my regular scheduled programming, is that so bad? If you think I’m using men, feel free to take a little scroll through my DMs. You will find a whole host of them using me for ego validation daily.

Us cool girls don’t get attached. We don’t fall in love, even when we do, we’re cool about it.

I’m currently in love with a man I will never meet. How’s that for cool?

The trick is to pick the one furthest away.

“Nebraska! It’s perfect, he’s never going to come here.”

I tell my friend.

“That’s what you said about the guy from LA, the San Fran man, and lest we forget … Japan.”

She’s right. I have had a few good men, fly in. One of which I haven’t even blocked yet. I’m happy to report we’ve remained … friends.

These men all had one thing in common, they caught me in a moment of weakness.

Fresh off a heartbreak, my defenses down, the walls were flimsy.

Even then, I maintained my devil may care attitude, because cool girls don’t let anyone in.

We’ll allow you to see just enough of us to make you believe, then reel it in before it gets too real.

I’ve spent most my life loving avoidant unavailable men, it’s served me well until it hasn’t.

Careful what you say to the cool girl who looks like she gets the most men, because she might actually be the loneliest girl in the world.