Why You Wouldn’t Date Me

I’ve made a discovery.

I, Ben Boudreau, am an introvert.

Did you hear that? That was my Dad collapsing on the floor in a Hiroshima of disagreement after years of reeling in my habit of being a PUBLIC! OVER! THE! TOP! SPECTACLE! ALL! THE! TIME!

But you see…my intelligent and insightful work wife, who I love for many reasons but mostly because she puts up with my daily dramatics and lets me have lattés even though I’ve given them up forever and ever amen, explained that being an introvert doesn’t mean quiet, losery wallflower like I’ve always assumed. I know…I’m surprised too. What’s the nice term for antisocial weirdos these days?

Instead, work wife explained that an introvert is someone who loses energy to social interactions unlike extroverts who gain energy from them. Which all of a sudden makes a Kirstie Alley serving size of sense to me.

It’s suddenly clear why even after an incredibly awesome day with friends filled with nothing but happiness and sunshine, I still need Cave of Solitude time the second I get home or else I become the equivalent of a shrieking harpy who popped in to the stylist for just a trim and OH MY GOD SHE CUT OFF FOUR FUCKING INCHES AND NOW I LOOK LIKE A BOY AND NOBODY’S EVER GOING TO LOVE MEEEEeeeeeEEEEEeeee oohhhgodimgoingtodiealoooOOOOOOoooone.

This happened last week. Everything was fine. I talked to people, I worked with people, I was pleasant and upbeat and optimistic and life was good. Then at some point within the thirty minute commute, I got quiet. And tired. And needlessly disgruntled.

Normally this would be okay. I’d get home, distract the newf with Babylon 5 DVDs and take some time to recharge. But not this day. My mother-in-law has been staying with us for a little vacation. She is wonderful and cleans and cooks and irons and takes care of the puppies and stays completely out of my way at all times. She’s the mother-in-law of your dreams and mine.

But she was still a person in my living space.

So I did what any raging lunatic would do at 5:30pm. I grabbed an unwilling Theo, shut the blinds, got in bed, pulled the covers over my head and clutched a writhing puppy against my chest as the only person who understands me.

The rest of the evening went a little like this.

(Exactly like this.)

5:45pm
The newf: “Um. Are you…okay?”
Rustling mass of duvet in the darkness: “i….just….i just don’t like….people.“
Theo: “PLEASELETMEGODODOGSTUFF. SQUIRMYSQUIRMYSQUIRMY IHATEYOU.”

7:00pm
The newf: “Feeling any better?”
RMODITD: “…………….leave me.“
Theo: “I concede. Swallow me, darkness.”

11:00pm
The newf gets into bed silently.
RMODITD: “excuse me.“
The newf: “Yes?”
RMODITD: “iwouldverymuchlikeitif…. youwouldtakemetothemovies…. togoseeclashofthetitans… andmaybevalentinesday… andthatnewonewithgerardbutlerandjenniferaniston… andiwouldlikefrozenyogurt. yes i think i would like more than anything else that has happened in my life ever.“
The newf: “….”
RMODITD: “psssst. please can i also please have a cookie please.“
The newf: “We’ll talk in the morning.”