Recently, I went on a date.
Not a bad date. As far as dates go, this one was pretty good.
He was filled with compliments.
He told me I was beautiful.
I just smiled and said “thank you.”
“I want to let that sink in,” he replied.
Sometimes, I get very self-conscious when people compliment me.
This was one of those moments.
Yes I’m beautiful but I’m no Cindy Crawford or Elle MacPherson.
I’m just little old me.
And it goes to show that maybe I’ve been a little bit worn down when it comes to dating that instead of being impressed by his compliment and touched by his sincerity, I felt like I was being buttered up. I was instantly suspicious.
So I paused and let that realization sink in.
The idea that I am damaged somehow and hard to connect with.
The idea that I might be the “bad” part of a date.
So I made sure for the rest of the date to be my authentic self, dorkiness and awkwardness and all.
Damaged goods, my ass!
I’ll be damned if I’m going to let dating make me jaded.
I’m going to be fresh every fucking time.
Fresh fucking Michelle.
Come and get it!