The Journalist swung by the desk last week for some idle chit chat, and she started griping about the person she was waiting for:
“I can’t believe this guy is taking so long. I would never let my boyfriend or husband make me wait like this.”
I give her a sidelong glance; “Really?”
She didn’t notice my look–far too busy checking her Iphone for messages. “Yeah.”
I saw the guy she was waiting for get off the elevator. “I guess that’s one reason we don’t hook up.”
Her eyes went round as saucers. Whatever response she might have made was cut off by the arrival of her associate. I have no idea if she looked back at me– I got busy with my own work. Whether she knew it or not, she just eliminated herself from “the pool of potentials”. If I have learned one thing from the Roissysphere/Manosphere, it is this: Never, never, ever, let a woman dictate your level of importance to you.
I remember being worried over feeling jealous at the sight of the Journalist getting a hug from a guy– worried because it meant I was slightly pedestalizing her, and suffering from attachment. That conversation killed that once and for all. Thank God. My time is running out, and the last thing I need to do is pine over a woman who would treat me like my time is less important than hers.
Never sell yourself short. Ever.