viragette

I am not one for New Year’s resolutions. It seems somewhat akin to giving thanks on Thanksgiving. I have the base covered, more or less. To the best of my abilities.

But - the festive spirit wore me down this year. I have a resolution. I am going to vacuum my apartment once a day. Every day. All year long. Even when I’m gone.

So, yeah - my robot vacuum cleaner arrived in the mail this weekend. So far I’ve been vacuuming twice a day, just for fun. This morning, I rose before the sun and “practiced” my Yoga, as the sun came up, looking out over my view of Lake Michigan. Roomba was in the other room, beeping around. Could I POSSIBLY feel more virtuous?! I was communing with nature, clearing my head, enriching my soul, cleaning and exercising - all at the same time! EARLY IN THE MORNING! My Protestant ancestors were singing MY praises in Heaven today.

Speaking of being in Heaven, a lovely gentlemen offered me a ride home after my dance class this evening. Lovely.

Sadly, I have received only mixed blessings of late from the land of boys. I have been attracting the wrong kind of attention. Not from nice guys (whose attention is lovely), but from “Nice Guys”, which is loathsome. If my terminology seems obscure, you might enjoy checking out this explanation of what is icky about “Nice Guys”. (The article about misogyny is also pretty sweet.)

And I’ve been wondering - WTF? I do not have a history of attracting this type of attention. What with the “Throwing Down of the Gauntlet” and the “Stare of Doom”, I am surprised when someone is still standing after the first 5 minutes. Am I losing my touch? Did someone tattoo “sucker” on my forehead while I wasn’t looking? Am I being - too NICE?! (Obviously.)

I think I’ve figured it out this week. I’m recently divorced. To some misguided folks, this evokes a mental image of a limping, helpless little deer surrounded by a pack of wolves. The only difference between the jerk and the “Nice Guy” is whether they envision themselves as one of the wolves, or that creepy hunter from Little Red Riding Hood.

These guys have no idea who they are dealing with. I just wish they could picture the sweet little doe-eyed creature of their fevered imaginations turning to them and saying:

“Look buddy, not only am I NOT your soulmate, it is my general opinion that if a man is lacking a complete soul of his own, I’m certainly not giving him mine.”

Gah. This calls for drastic girly-measures. Or, at least, smelling totally bitchin’.