Maybe I'll have to break the other hip... (or, Fake Crushes)

I’m coming to realize that my most functional and enduring relationships have been imaginary ones. Wordlessly sharing coffee and reading suggestions with the bearded guy I see every day on the train (he knows I’m cool because of the ipod and book, right?), the tacit camaraderie with the cute fellow morning shift runner-guy at the gym, and, of course, my favorite bartender who I’m pretty sure is in love with me (he just doesn’t know it yet). These are my imaginary boyfriends, and they are the best!

When it comes to real life where it may sometimes be necessary to actually let the other person know they are in a relationship, I will be the first to admit that I am horrible at dating. In fact, I try to avoid it at all costs (ok, maybe I don’t have to try to avoid it….), based on an underlying adherence to my edict: I do not like doing things I am not good at. I will never be the pretty, charming, coy girl who captures a guy’s attention with ease and grace. I am awkward and sarcastic, I have no tact or grace, I love to prove people wrong, and I spill things. These qualities, as it turns out, are not compatible within the architecture of dating. I get incensed with the “rules” of dating that are superimposed on our own natural propensities (Whose turn is it to call? Wait how many days before contact? Who pays? Be on time or late? Blahhh.). As a result, dating to me is torturous, superficial, and constructed. So sue me; I prefer to get drunk and make out with random guys I do not know. Works for me!

I recently broke up with my latest fake crush. The romance just faded after I had no more broken bones for him to heal and the co-pay got too much to handle. But, my orthopedist will always have a warm place in my heart.

Let me preface this by saying that I have had a history of anxiety surrounding doctors. Which prevented me from seeing a doctor for six years. And which prevented me from seeing an orthopedist until I was literally doubled over in pain and unable to walk without a limp and extensive pain. But, Dr. Sexypants won my heart.

Why was Dr. Sexypants a fake crush? Well, there was the business of that suspicious silver band on his left index finger. Also, he regularly touched my pubic bone. Which is just not acceptable before the first date (or unless I’m drunk). Oh, yeah, turns out I had a severe stress fracture in my pubic bone. (I apologize to those of you who I told it was my hip. Somehow throwing out the word “pubic” in casual conversation turns people off. Plus, it’s more dramatic to say that I broke my hip.)

Case Study: Differences Between the Real and Fake Crush
In the recreational/real world: Attractive man enters the room and I immediately get all darty eyed, turn red, bury my face in a book (or a drink [or eight]), and completely ignore said attractive man.
In the doctor’s office: Cute guy with brown eyes that just sparkle in fluorescent doctor’s office light and an upturned smile enters room, I maintain my composure, confidently display my prowess of the google-based diagnosis and pray he does not ask me to take off my pants. I don’t even turn red!

In the months* that followed or “first date” (or appointment. Whatever.), I think our relationship followed a pretty traditional trajectory. Our first fight was instigated by the fact that he banned me from running and any excess walking for next four months. Just like a sensitive real crush, he empathized with me after our disagreement by talking of his struggles with own stress fracture. And how he wanted me to heal. Caring! Emotional support!

In the beginning, or honeymoon period, I would dress up for appointments. Seriously. One day this winter it was doing that raining/snowing combination of misery, and I trudged from the T stop sans umbrella to my apartment to grab my “ortho appt” clothes and a pair of dry socks. No time to dry my hair, but I DID manage to apply some mascara. Who am I? I never wear makeup, especially during the week (again, I’m a catch!).

In some ways I feared I presented myself as a caricature much like Jeff Richard’s “the drunk girl” SNL character (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RXCBigLNCGg), delusionally exuding what I thought was sex appeal, when I was, in actuality, a shameless fat man in a dress. Or a drowned rat in mascara. But! It didn't matter! Dr. Sexypants was off limits in so many regards and therefore a “safe” crush.

Therein lies the beauty of my fake crushes. Nothing can come of them, thus allowing the luxury of flirtation without consequences, and finding a comfortable domain in that land of flirtation! I could practice my charming conversational abilities while trading skiing and running stories (of COURSE he was an outdoorsman) and still maintain a safe professional distance.

I’m pretty (delusional) sure the doc covertly participated in our relationship. There was that time, for example, while he was demonstrating the particulars of my injury and runner’s physique to a student doctor, that he held my ass (because apparently my ass in unlike that of a soccer player? which apparently means I would have less more thigh and ass muscle and instead have more lean muscle? I would like to interpret this as he thinks I have a nice ass.) for an unnecessarily long period of time. Not that I’m complaining. I’m just saying… we enjoyed one another’s company. And there was the physical interaction aspect of the relationship!

Fake crushes, innocent flirtation, I think most people have those anonymous or occasional people in their lives who provide flirting fodder. A practice ground. Or just a daily pleasant sight. For example, one of my friends has a fake crush on a 22 year old (she is 28 and this is clearly not an option.). My mom has an inappropriate crush on one of her yoga instructors who is my age. She uses the excuse that she thinks he would be perfect for me. Because a semi-employed yoga instructor who lives three states away would be perfect for me. Although he is nice. I’ve taken his class. Ok, I will put him in the bank of my fake crushes.

And, while I’m not saying that any of the interactions that formed the foundation of clouds on which my fake relationships are based eradicate my awkwardness in “real” dating and flirting situations, they sure are fun. Crushes are fun.


**As it turns out, I had a pretty severe injury, one that required multiple x-rays, MRIs, caused me many tears and near-constant pain (oh, I couldn’t even find google research on it because it was mostly documented in women in the military, and otherwise pretty rare. awesome.)