The Wrong Race

C and I got up on a particular gloomy day and conversed over our bowl of Apple Cinnamon Cheerios. The conversation started with the topic of a particular encounter we had with someone in our apartment complex area.

Somehow, and easily, he left a bad taste in my mouth. While I am sure he is a good person and would never actually do anything to hurt anyone, he reeked of tool-douche bag. If I had met this kid a year or so ago, I would have thought he was the funniest person. I would have been thrilled that he sent a friend request ten minutes after we left his apartment.

But now my radar for boys like him has sent me in the opposite direction. I can't even count the number of boys I know who are exactly like him. They lie to impress and flirt, everything they say is a game, and the entire conversation somehow ends up about him. This may be all fun when you are just in the game for some fling, but even flings get boring. How does anyone expect a strong relationship/friendship be built when you spend half your time untangling his comments and picking and choosing what is real or a lie.

And maybe there wasn't anything wrong with him, but me.  I've already paid the tuition for that type of lesson {associating with tools is a lesson you only really need to learn once} and it's time for me to learn from someone a little different.

Boys complain that the reason they resort to toolness is because nice guys finish last. C jokingly said that Whitaker was nice, but he definitely finished last in the race

But that's because he was in the wrong race. It wasn't anything he did, but that who he was did not match with who C was. So he didn't finish last, like most of the boys in Provo area, he was just running in the wrong race.