A recent dating escapade involved a handful of dates with a dude I legitimately felt I could be into. Banter was good, he was really smart and successful and had an astonishing amount of muscle mass.
Alas, something I couldn’t explain held me back. I wasn’t able to put my finger on what it was, so his 750 lb. squat kept him in the game for a while.
Fast forward to D-Day: I went to test drive a vehicle he was about to purchase. While the world trends Tesla, this dude goes Hummer. Let’s just say, I was thrown.
I hopped into said Hummer and he greets me with: “Hey Buttercup.” Double thrown.
And that was that. I couldn’t get over the Hummer purchase and the Buttercup greeting.
Truth be told, however, as I mentioned something was off all along, and I’m starting to realize it wasn’t really about the Hummer or the Buttercup. Those two things just finally gave me tangible reason to scurry away from him. And an explanation to give to people when they asked me , “How’s it going with the maritime guy?” Now I could say: “He’s driving around the city in a Hummer calling me Buttercup. It’s over.”
I am aware that had I been into him, I would have somehow found the Hummer sexy and manly, and being called Buttercup cute and endearing. But since something unexplainable was off, these became easy targets for dismissal.
The situation caused me to look into the other seemingly absurd reasons I concocted for ending things with men in the last 2.5 years:
• There was the intermittent faster, so committed to fasting that we’d never eat dinner together…
• There was the guy whose t-shirts were too short, so when he lifted his arms his midriff became exposed…
• There was the guy who picked flowers from his deck and put them on my plate on a second date…
• There was the guy who took a picture of his closet to show me there would be space for my clothes when I moved in…
• There was the guy who kissed me on the nose one too many times…
• And the guy who chewed citrus-flavoured gum (Yes, this was actually my stated reason)…
• Or the guy, who due to his “troubled past,” wasn’t able to travel to the United States.
And on. And on.
On the one hand, I just sound like a massively critically 35-year-old woman who will end up alone raising birds. But on the other hand, I think there’s something greater at play here: Pheromones!
In theory I don’t have list of must-haves in a man. I just want to feel that je ne sais quoi, that intangible connection, and I’m starting to think it all comes down to pheromones.
Yes, if the smell were right, I am fully aware that I could end up with an intermittent fasting, citrus-gum chewing, nose-kisser rumbling around the city in a Hummer, unable to travel to Vegas with me, who wears t-shirts that expose his mid-section and regularly decorates my dinner plate with flowers.
Kelsey, when it comes to mate selection, does it really all come down to smell?